I  &fi  0' 


DOT.  OF  CALIF.  WSHItt.  W8  M6BLBS 


CHRONICLES 

of 

OLD   RIVERBY 


BY 

JANE  FELTON  SAMPSON 

Author  of    Abroad 
with  the  Fletchers,"  etc. 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 
1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  <&»  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     THE   JOURNEY 1 

II  THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  "DUCHESS"  .      .       9 

III  THE    FORTUNE    TELLER 19 

IV  THE   FUNERAL        .......      31 

V  THE    RED   MOROCCO   BIBLE    ....      39 

VI     THE   CIRCUS 48 

VII     UNREQUITED   LOVE 57 

VIII     THE  RECLUSE 64 

IX     PATRICK    SPELLMAN 74 

X     THE  MINER'S  STORY 83 

XI     THE    HUSKING 98 

XII     THE  LITTLE  WAIF 108 

XIII  THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE 128 

XIV  THE   PERCIVALS 141 

XV  THE  MYSTERIOUS  LIKENESS  UPON  A  MIR- 
ROR      154 

XVI  THE  FORTUNES  OF  PHILLIP  TURNER     .    161 

XVII  THE  LEGEND  OF  LONE  ISLAND   .             ,169 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  JOURNEY 

Judge  Winn  was  a  native  of  Boston.  He  was  a 
brusque  man  whose  word  was  law,  both  in  his 
household  and  among  his  associates.  Still,  when- 
ever the  family  physician  found  any  indication  of 
failing  health  in  one  of  the  children,  his  austerity 
disappeared  and  he  became  as  nervous  as  a 
woman.  When,  in  the  early  eighties,  he  was  told 
that  Rachel,  his  only  daughter,  required  a  change 
of  air  in  order  to  go  on  with  her  studies  in  the  fall, 
the  judge  and  his  devoted  wife  immediately  set 
about  making  arrangements  for  the  girl  to  spend 
the  summer  at  Old  Riverby. 

"  Since  John  Bradley,  the  inn-keeper,  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  that  is  just  the  place  for  her," 
declared  the  judge. 

Rachel  Winn,  then  a  girl  of  seventeen,  was  tall 
and  slight.  Just  a  suggestion  of  rose  flushed  her 
cheeks,  and  the  wealth  of  nut-brown  hair  plaited  in 
two  braids  and  coiled  about  her  head  simulated  a 
coronet.  There  was  nothing  striking  in  her  per- 
sonal appearance  except  when  some  pathetic  tale 
roused  her  sympathies1;  then  the  soft  brown  eyes 
were  expressive  of  unusual  depth  of  feeling. 

Going  to  Old  Riverby  was  Rachel's  first  experi- 


ence  in  traveling  without  some  member  of  her 
family.  Though  that  was  years  ago,  and  though 
she  has  traveled  in  many  lands  since  then,  she  re- 
members and  recounts  her  impressions  of  the 
journey  with  as  much  interest  as  if  it  were  the 
most  important  one  of  her  life.  Among  her  fellow 
passengers  there  happened  to  be  a  woman  from 
New  York  with  a  black-and-tan  dog  wearing  a 
broad  yellow  ribbon  around  its  neck.  At  her  left 
sat  a  German  and  his  wife,  who  spent  most  of  the 
day  in  eating  and  drinking  from  the  contents  of 
a  large  willow  hamper.  Who  should  stop  at  the 
inn  a  week  later  but  the  same  couple.  They  regis- 
tered as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Teschmacher.  The  name 
proved  too  much  for  the  table-waitress,  and  she 
called  them  the  Tushmakers.  But  most  amusing 
of  the  travelers  were  a  young  man  and  woman  who 
were  evidently  taking  their  maiden  trip  with  their 
first-born,  an  infant  some  three  or  four  weeks  of 
age. 

From  Barton,  where  Rachel  Winn  left  the  train, 
it  was  necessary  to  go  ten  or  twelve  miles'  by  coach 
before  reaching  her  destination.  That  was  before 
the  "  ghost  train  "  threaded  its  way  through  the 
mountains,  or  automobiles  desecrated  the  sacred 
precincts  of  the  hill-towns.  There  was  some  doubt 
in  the  girl's  mind  as  to  whether  or  not  she  would 
arrive  without  accident.  According  to  her  de- 
scription of  the  old  vehicle,  it  might  have  been 
taken  from  Noah's  ark. 

Some   of   the   spokes    in   the   wheels   had  been 


THE  JOURNEY  3 

broken  and  replaced  by  unfinished  ones,  the  fellies 
were  crumbling  from  the  tires ;  and  the  dilapidated 
body,  with  only  a  suggestion  of  yellow  paint  left 
upon  its  sides,  tilted  dangerously  about  on  rusty 
thorough-braces.  The  interior  was  no  less  im- 
paired. The  high,  narrow  seats  without  up- 
holstery were  most  uncomfortable.  It  was  only 
by  taking  a  firm  hold  upon  a  broad  leather  strap 
suspended  from  above  that  Rachel  managed  to 
keep  her  sitting. 

The  four  horses,  with  the  appearance  of  being 
poorly  fed,  were  each  decorated  with  a  crimson 
worsted  tassel  that  dangled  from  the  hames  of 
his  harness.  Then,  too,  the  driver  was  not  alto- 
gether prepossessing.  There  was  something  of  a 
hangdog  look  in  his  face,  whether  it  was  from 
bashfulness  or  from  natural  depravity  would  be 
hard  to  say. 

There  was  only  one  passenger  beside  Rachel; 
that  was  a  woman  from  Barton.  The  girl  noticed 
that  the  stranger  had  a  basket  which  she  carefully 
lifted  whenever  they  came  to  a  rough  place  in  the 
road.  She  hadn't  long  to  wonder  what  the  recep- 
tacle contained,  for  the  woman  informed  her  that 
she  was  going  to  visit  her  daughter  and  added: 

"  I  thought  I  might  as  well  kill  two  birds  with 
one  stone,  so  I'm  takin'  some  aigs  over  to  'Squire 
Bailey  that  keeps  the  corner  store.  He  ain't  no 
swearin'  man,  but  he'll  take  his  oath  on  my  aigs' 
every  day  in  the  week." 

The  chug,  chug  of  the  wheels,  as  they  rattled 


back  and  forth  upon  the  ungreased  axles,  was  ac- 
companied by  the  sonorous  voice  of  the  Barton 
woman,  who  made  a  strenuous  effort  to  acquaint 
the  city  girl  with  the  characteristics  of  the  Old 
Riverby  people.  Rachel  paid  little  attention  to 
what  she  said  about  the  inn-keeper's  family,  and 
her  long  story  about  the  minister  and  his  arduous 
duties  seemed  unimportant.  But  when  the  woman 
mentioned  a  family  in  which  all  of  the  children 
were  born  with  six  toes  upon  each  foot  and  six 
fingers  upon  each  hand,  Rachel  became  interested. 
That  information  was  supplemented  by  a  detailed 
account  of  "  dark  Marjory,"  a  strange  woman 
who  lived  in  a  log  house  near  the  base  of  Mt.  Man- 
son,  and  who  sometimes  told  fortunes  for  the  vil- 
lage girls  and  boys.  The  loquacious  stranger 
told  about  the  fortune  teller's  dark  eyes  lighting 
up  and  flashing  like  fire,  and  about  her  purple- 
black  hair  just  touched  with  threads  of  white. 
Continuing  she  said : 

"  Dark  Marjory  keeps  three  black  cats  for  luck. 
They  set  'round  the  hearth  by  night  blinkin'  and 
lappin'  their  chops  while  the  corn  cakes  and  ven'son 
cooks  before  the  fire.  When  she  come  to  the  vil- 
lage she  had  some  money,  so  folks1  said,  and  two 
or  three  rings.  She  can't  have  much  now  though, 
for  she  hain't  got  but  one  dress  to  her  back,  and 
that's  all  out  to  the  elbows." 

"  Poor  thing!  "  Rachel  ejaculated. 

"  But  for  all  she's  in  such  poverty,"  the  stranger 
continued,  "  they  say  the  woman  has  got  a  little 


THE  JOURNEY  5 

gold  cross  that  she  won't  part  with  for  love  nor 
money.  She  wears  it  on  a  long  string  of  beads, 
and  I've  been  told  that  she  holds  it  in  her  hand 
when  she  tells  fortin's." 

Just  then  a  terrible  clap  of  thunder  burst  from 
the  clouds,  the  wind  increased  in  force,  and  before 
the  coach  reached  the  village  a  perfect  tornado 
swept  down  the  valley.  Finally  a  blast  from  the 
driver's  bugle  announced  their  arrival  at  the  inn. 
Colonel  Bradley,  the  landlord,  with  lantern  in 
hand,  appeared  on  the  piazza.  It  was  only  by 
holding  on  to  shrubbery  that  bordered  the  walk 
that  he  was1  able  to  reach  the  coach.  At  the 
door  of  the  inn  stood  Mrs.  Bradley  with  a  flaring 
candle. 

In  spite  of  the  cordial  greeting  given  Rachel 
by  the  host  and  hostess,  she  was  somewhat  home- 
sick, and  would  gladly  have  remained  in  her  room 
during  the  evening.  She  knew  that  would  seem 
odd,  so,  slipping  on  a  pink  muslin  dress  and  put- 
ting on  a  string  of  pink  coral  beads,  she  went  down 
to  the  parlor,  never  dreaming  that  each  newcomer 
at  a  small  hotel  is  a  target  for  criticism.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  the  summer  was  still  young  and 
only  a  few  of  the  migratory  birds  had  returned  to 
the  hills.  Among  them  were  three  or  four  dow- 
agers who  came  early  and  stayed  late,  a  tired 
mother  with  her  children  just  out  of  school,  and 
a  bride  and  groom. 

The  furnishings  of  the  room  consisted  of  a 
square  piano  which  stood  between  the  two  front 


6         CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

windows,  a  black  haircloth  suite,  a  red  and  green 
carpet  having  large  figures,  and  several  family 
portraits  that  looked  mournfully  down  from  their 
oval  black  walnut  frames.  Upon  seeing  two  coffin 
plates  side  by  side  on  the  mantel  the  "  creeps  " 
went  down  Rachel's  spine.  "  To  be  sure,"  she 
thought,  "  the  bouquet  of  crystallized  glass  in  the 
blue  vase  beside  them  gives  a  less  funereal  appear- 
ance than  they  would  otherwise  have;  still  they 
seem  incongruous  ornaments  for  the  drawing- 
room  of  a  public  house." 

To  go  back  to  Rachel's  first  night  in  the  village ; 
the  river's  incessant  roar  disturbed  her  somewhat. 
By  a  cloud-burst  its  banks  were  overflowed  and 
the  water  ran  past  the  inn  like  a  mill  tail.  Before 
morning,  however,  the  stream  lowered  somewhat 
and  left  the  grassy  border  fresh  in  verdure  and 
tinged  with  the  yellow  of  honeysuckles.  In  the 
garden  morning-glories  nodded  to  one  another  and 
smiled  through  raindrops  that  trembled  upon  their 
dainty  petals.  Geraniums  which  had  been  housed 
during  the  winter,  were  putting  forth  their  scarlet 
blossoms,  sweet-peas  were  budding,  and  the  hedge 
of  red  roses  that  bordered  the  wall  flamed  in  color. 

Beyond  the  garden-wall  lay  the  road.  Then 
came  the  river,  separating  the  village  from  a  high 
bluff  upon  which  stood  an  old  ruin.  That  relic  of 
a  great  industry  had  no  semblance  to  a  stronghold. 
There  were  neither  embattled  towers  nor  a  port- 
cullis. Still,  that  city  girl  with  an  imaginative 
turn  of  mind  at  once  peopled  it  with  mythical 


THE  JOURNEY  7 

characters.  While  at  breakfast  some  one  inci- 
dentally said  that  the  dilapidated  structure  was 
an  old  furnace  once  used  by  an  iron  company. 
You  can  imagine  how  her  air-castle  was  shaken. 
It  was  saved  from  total  destruction,  however,  by 
the  lady  next  her  on  the  left,  who  said : 

"  A  strange  looking  man  lives  there.  The 
townspeople  think  he  is  a  monk." 

Before  the  erection  of  the  academy,  the  new 
church,  and  the  iron  bridge  which  spans  the  crys- 
tal waters,  Old  Riverby  was  a  picturesque  bit  of 
landscape  that  lured  many  an  artist  from  less  at- 
tractive scenes.  Passing  the  inn  one  came  to  the 
village  green  shaded  by  leafy  maples.  Beyond, 
on  the  right,  an  old,  red  sawmill  flanked  the 
stream;  on  the  left  stood  a  tumble-down  tavern. 
That  ancient  hostelry  had  sheltered  many  a  noted 
personage  and  had  been  the  scene  of  much  old-time 
revelry.  In  early  days  it  was  there  that  stage 
drivers  changed  horses  and  in  the  meantime  re- 
freshed the  inner  man. 

Beyond  the  old  tavern  and  not  far  from  it,  a 
long  row  of  cottages  bordered  one  side  of  the 
street.  They  were  all  constructed  after  the  same 
fashion.  The  doors  opened  side  by  side  in  the 
middle  of  the  front  of  each,  and  a  chimney  at  either 
end  overtopped  the  roof.  They  were  called  the 
company  houses.  After  the  prosperous  days  of 
the  iron  company  passed  they,  with  the  exception 
of  one,  were  rented  to  employees  of  the  thread 
factory.  That  one  was  occupied  by  the  widow 


8         CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

Starkey,  who  did  millinery  for  the  townspeople, 
embroidery  for  some  city  shop,  and  kept  a  few 
small  wares  for  sale. 

The  "  Duchess,"  as  the  villagers  called  the 
widow  Starkey,  was  a  charming  woman.  The 
children  all  knew  and  loved  her,  and  the  young 
men  and  women  found  her  a  wise  counselor  when 
slight  difficulties  arose  in  their  love  affairs.  She 
knew  full  well  that  the  course  of  true  love  never 
runs  smoothly. 

But  no  one  knew  more,  both  of  the  sunshine 
and  shadows  in  the  lives  of  the  people,  than  the 
genial  landlord  and  his  self-sacrificing  wife.  Col- 
onel Bradley,  with  a  good  word  for  everyone,  was 
always  ready  to  lend  a  hand.  And  it  was  Mrs1. 
Bradley  who  made  the  wedding-cake,  draped  the 
bridal  veil  at  every  marriage  in  the  village,  and 
withal  tended  the  sick  and  comforted  the  sorrow- 
ing. There  are  those  who  still  remember  her  care- 
worn face  as  she  returned  from  a  night's  watching 
with  some  one  of  the  thread-makers'  children. 
When  remonstrated  with  for  needlessly  wearing 
herself  out,  her  reply  was : 

"  'As  much  as  ye  have  done  unto  the  least  of 
these  the  same  have  ye  done  unto  the  Father.' ' 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  "  DUCHESS  " 

Scarcely  twenty-four  hours  passed  after  Rachel 
Winn's  arrival  in  the  village  before  she  was  the 
all-absorbing  topic  of  conversation.  The  young 
people  were  wondering  if  she,  like  other  city  girls 
who  had  been  there,  would  be  too  proud  to  notice 
them.  And  some  of  the  parents  who  had  heard 
Colonel  Bradley  speak  of  Judge  Winn  as  one  of 
the  blue  bloods  of  the  "  Hub  "  were  at  their  wits' 
end  to  know  why  he  sent  his  daughter  to  an  un- 
pretentious country  inn  to  spend  the  summer. 
Mrs.  Bradley  set  the  minds  of  the  parents  at  rest, 
and  before  a  week  Rachel  was  sufficiently  popular 
with  the  younger  set  to  be  considered  one  of 
them.  By  that  time  she  had  also  become  a  favor- 
ite with  the  "  Duchess." 

The  "  Duchess  "  was  born  in  a  red  farmhouse 
with  a  gambrel  roof.  It  may  still  be  seen  at  the 
summit  of  Marvin  Hill  overlooking  the  village  and 
sheltered  by  a  clump  of  maples  that  flaunt  their 
crimson  coloring  every  autumn.  Joshua  Mar- 
vin inherited  the  estate,  together  with  two  or  three 
mortgages,  from  his  father.  Happily,  the  storks 
made  frequent  visits  at  the  old  homestead  during 
the  payment  of  the  encumbrances  and  there  were 
five  children,  all  girls. 


10      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

No  prettier  sight  was  ever  seen  in  Old  Riverby 
than  the  Marvins  on  their  way  to  divine  service 
on  Sunday  mornings.  Joshua,  in  his  figured  satin 
waistcoat,  his  black  neckstock  and  stovepipe  hat, 
looked  a  veritable  lord  as  he  reined  his  span  of 
bays  up  to  the  meetinghouse  steps. 

The  Marvin  girls  were  unusually  attractive 
when  they  grew  to  womanhood.  Julia,  the  eldest 
one,  married  a  Methodist  preacher  and  settled  in 
Detroit.  Martha  had  all  kinds  of  escapades,  and 
finally  married  a  physician  and  went  to  northern 
New  York  to  live.  Lavinia  captured  a  college 
professor,  and  Patience,  a  fascinating  girl,  gave 
her  heart  and  hand  to  a  lawyer  whose  home  was 
in  Baltimore.  That  left  Katherine,  the  youngest 
one,  who  became  Mrs.  Starkey,  the  only  one  on 
the  stocks,  so  to  speak.  When  some  one  joked 
Mr.  Marvin  about  Katherine  being  the  old  maid  of 
the  family  he  said: 

"  If  she  is  it  will  be  her  own  choice !  She  has 
had  chances  in  plenty,  but  my  '  Kit '  has  too 
much  of  her  father's  good  sense  to  hurry  about 
leaving  home." 

Alas  for  the  blindness  of  parents !  One  day  the 
credulous  father  learned  that  his  beautiful,  cul- 
tured daughter  was  in  love  with  Francis  Gray,  the 
tin  peddler.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
the  son  of  Esquire  Gray  who  kept  a  large  store 
at  Lyndon  Crossroads,  bartering  in  tinware  was 
too  common  an  occupation  for  him  who  aspired 
to  become  the  husband  of  one  of  the  Marvin  girls ; 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  "  DUCHESS  "      11 

at  least,  so  thought  Joshua.  When  young  Gray 
asked  him  for  Katherine's  hand  in  marriage  he 
was  beside  himself  with  rage.  He  refused  his 
request  and  forbade  his  daughter  to  see  her  lover 
again. 

To  all  appearances  the  affair  was  ended,  but 
when  farmer  Jones  over  at  East  Branch  had  his 
first  apple-bee  that  fall,  it  was  quite  obvious  that 
Cupid  was  still  on  the  wing.  There  the  two  met 
and  had  the  first  dance  together.  Doubtless  they 
would  have  continued  the  harmless  amusement  had 
not  Joshua  Marvin  appeared  on  the  scene.  He 
threatened  to  horsewhip  the  young  man  if  he  ever 
set  foot  in  town  again;  then,  taking  his  daughter 
by  the  arm,  he  escorted  her  to  the  dressing-room. 
What  passed  between  the  irate  father  and  the  in- 
dignant girl  during  their  breakneck  ride  home  will 
never  be  known.  But  old  Rose  Dorman,  maid- 
of-all-work  at  the  farmhouse,  said: 

"  Katherine  was  locked  into  her  room  and  kept 
there  till  she  promised  to  comply  with  her  father's 
wishes." 

The  excitement  of  the  affair  brought  an  attack 
of  heart  trouble  upon  Mrs.  Marvin,  from  which 
she  never  recovered.  During  her  long  illness  the 
seemingly  penitent  Katherine  was  both  nurse  and 
housekeeper.  Soon  after  her  mother's  death  news 
came  that  Francis  Gray  had  married  the  daughter 
of  a  Denver  banker.  Then,  proving  that  troubles 
never  come  singly,  word  was  received  that  Julia, 
who  married  the  Methodist  divine,  had  left  her 


18      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

husband  and  was  coming  home  to  live.  The 
younger  sister  waited  till  the  minister's  wife  was 
comfortably  settled  with  her  family,  which  con- 
sisted of  two  lively  boys,  a  poll  parrot  and  a  Scotch 
terrier;  then  she  said  to  her  father: 

"  Since  there  seems  to  be  no  further  need  of  my 
services  here,  I  have  arranged  to  go  to  Westfield 
where  I  shall  engage  in  the  millinery  business." 

"  What !  One  of  Josh  Marvin's  girls  out  in 
the  world  earning  her  own  living?  "  the  surprised 
parent  exclaimed.  "  You  may  as  well  give  that 
notion  up  first  as  last !  " 

Katherine's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation,  but 
she  wisely  refrained  from  making  any  reply. 
Nevertheless,  she  carried  out  her  plans  according  to 
her  own  judgment.  The  excitement  attendant  upon 
her  leaving  home  scarcely  lost  its  interest  for  the 
villagers  when  word  came  that  she  had  married 
Colonel  Starkey,  a  retired  army  officer.  The  sew- 
ing-circle met  that  week.  Naturally  the  Starkey- 
Marvin  wedding  was  discussed  at  length.  When 
old  lady  Sawyer,  who  attended  the  circle  for  the 
first  time  for  months,  heard  the  news,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Has  the  girl  gone  clean  crazy  ?  Why,  the 
colonel  is  old  enough  to  be  her  father !  " 

"  May  and  December !  May  and  December !  " 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Spriggins  in  reply.  "  The  frost 
of  one'll  sap  the  sunshine  from  the  other !  " 

"  So,  so,  Melviny,"  declared  the  widow  Miller. 
"  And  who  knows  more  about  it  than  you  do  after 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  "  DUCHESS  "   13 

marrying  Dan  Spriggins,  twice  your  age  and  not 
any  too  agreeable  into  the  bargain !  " 

"What!"  said  Jane  Saunders.  "You  don't 
say  that  Kittie  Marvin  has  taken  up  with  that  old 
soldier  who  has  nothing  but  a  pair  of  rusty  spurs 
to  show  that  he  was  ever  in  the  service?  And  all 
because  she  couldn't  have  Francis  Gray!  Well  I 
never !  " 

Two  years  later  the  colonel  died.  If  Katherine 
Starkey  cringed  beneath  the  fetters  which  bound 
her  to  a  paralytic  whom  she  never  loved,  the  world 
was  none  the  wiser.  Immediately  after  the  funeral 
she  gathered  up  what  remained  of  his  misspent 
fortune,  came  back  to  the  village,  and  opened  the 
little  shop. 

Year  after  year  passed,  one  as  uneventfully  as 
the  other.  Finally,  one  day  the  loafers  at  the 
corner  store  were  startled  from  their  usual  phleg- 
matic condition  by  Mrs.  Bailey,  the  postmistress, 
announcing  the  fact  that  a  letter  had  just  come 
for  the  "  Duchess  "  which  bore  a  foreign  post- 
mark. The  missive  was  passed  out  to  Joe  West, 
who  said  he  was  going  up  that  way  and  would  take 
it  along.  After  looking  it  carefully  over  he  passed 
it  back.  Mintie  Mills,  the  church  organist,  hap- 
pened in  just  then  and  offered  to  take  it  to  the 
owner. 

It  couldn't  be  said  of  Mintie  that  she  had  eyes 
all  over  her  head,  but  that  nothing  escaped  her 
notice  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  as1  everyone  in 
the  village  could  testify.  The  following  day  she 


14       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

called  at  the  corner  store,  ostensibly  to  get  a 
paper  of  needles.  She  had  no  more  than  crossed 
the  threshold  when  she  exclaimed: 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Bailey,  you  should  have  seen  the 
'  Duchess '  when  she  opened  that  letter !  She 
turned  so  pale  that  I  actually  thought  she  was 
going  to  faint.  She  couldn't  have  read  more  than 
two  or  three  lines  when  she  stepped  into  the  bed- 
room. When  she  came  out  her  cheeks  were  aflame 
with  color,  and  she  began  talking  about  the 
weather." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Bailey,  "  that  certainly 
did  look  suspicious !  Now,  Mintie,"  she  went  on, 
"  far  be  it  from  me  to  think  ill  of  any  one,  but 
may  that  letter  not  have  come  from  some  gentle- 
man friend  that  she  met  when  she  was  in  Europe 
with  the  colonel?  Of  course,  as  I  said  before,  far 
be  it  from  me,  but  I  don't  suppose  we  who  live 
here  in  this  country  town  know  anything  about 
the  goings-on  amongst  the  upper  ten  folks  in  cities ! 
Be  that  as  it  may,  I  shall  be  on  the  lookout  to  see 
who  she  writes  to  hereafter." 

As  it  happened,  no  letters  except  those  which 
went  to  her  sisters  were  mailed  by  the  "  Duchess." 
Rachel  Winn  frequently  took  long  rides  on  horse- 
back. Perhaps  she  could  have  informed  the  na- 
tives regarding  a  few  missives  that  were  mailed 
miles  away  which  bore  the  address  of  a  gentleman 
across  the  seas. 

It  was  the  last  Sunday  in  August  that  the 
"  Duchess  "  appeared  at  church  in  a  lavender  and 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  "DUCHESS"      15 

white  striped  silk  instead  of  her  black  cashmere. 
That  was  sufficient  to  set  the  villagers'  heads  nod- 
ding and  their  tongues  wagging.  Even  old  Nabby 
McNeil,  the  Scotch  washerwoman  at  the  inn,  said : 

"  It  means  nea  gude  for  a  widdie  to  be  sheddin' 
her  weeds." 

To  spy  upon  the  movements  of  her  neighbor 
Mrs.  Binley,  who  lived  next  door  to  the  widow 
Starkey,  sent  her  twelve-year-old  daughter  in  be- 
fore nine  o'clock  Monday  morning  to  buy  a  yard 
of  pink  cambric,  a  fabric  which  she  well  knew 
the  woman  never  kept.  Upon  the  child's  return 
her  mother  said: 

"  I  suppose  the  *  Duchess '  is  all  tidied  up  and 
busy  with  her  sewing?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  the  lace  she  is  put- 
ting onto  a  petticoat  with  more  than  a  dozen  tucks 
in  it  is  that  wide,"  measuring  it  upon  her  fore- 
finger. 

That  much  information  increased  Mrs.  Binley's 
curiosity  to  see  for  herself  what  was  going  on  next 
door.  It  immediately  came  to  her  that  she  was 
in  need  of  a  spool  of  thirty-six  cotton  to  make 
the  buttonholes  in  Jamie's  shirt  which  was  begun 
the  fall  before.  After  wiping  the  suds  from  her 
buxom  arms  and  taking  a  look  into  the  wash- 
boiler,  she  tapped  at  her  neighbor's  door. 

Before  opening  it  the  "  Duchess  "  dropped  her 
sewing  into  a  cretonne-covered  basket  beside  her 
and  took  up  a  wrister  that  she  was  knitting  for 
Johnnie  Miles,  an  orphan.  She  little  dreamed 


that  her  customer  saw  the  whole  proceeding 
through  the  lace  drapery,  or  that  she  closely  eyed 
the  unfinished  plum-colored  silk  dress  that  lay 
across  a  chair  in  the  adjoining  room. 

Without  stopping  to  mention  that  Chestina  was 
down  with  the  mumps,  that  Jamie's  throat  was 
covered  with  white  patches,  or  that  Susan  lacked 
only  thirteen  of  being  at  the  head  of  her  class, 
Mrs.  Binley  purchased  her  spool  of  cotton  and 
hurried  home. 

"  I  wonder  what  I  have  done  to  offend  her," 
thought  the  "  Duchess."  "  She  usually  lingers  to 
have  a  little  chat." 

The  woman  scarcely  reached  home  before  she 
began  preparations  to  go  down  street.  The  fol- 
lowing is  her  soliloquy  that  one  of  the  neighbors 
overheard : 

"  I  can't  be  without  fever-drops  for  Jamie ;  then 
how  am  I  goin'  to  know  for  certain  that  Chestiny's 
got  the  mumps  'less  I  git  some  vinegar  for  her  to 
drink?  I'll  put  the  biler  back, —  a  little  soakin' 
more  or  less  won't  hurt  the  clo'es." 

Then  the  children  were  told  not  to  sit  in  a 
draught  with  the  baby,  and  of  all  things  to  be 
careful  that  he  didn't  fall  out  of  his  crib.  A 
few  twists  given  the  frowsy  red  hair,  a  change 
from  the  everyday  print  dress  to  her  Sunday  one, 
and  the  woman  was  off  to  circulate  what  informa- 
tion she  had  gained.  One  couldn't  blame  the  poor 
thing  for  delighting  in  a  bit  of  innocent  gossip. 
A  multiplying  family,  together  with  a  shiftless 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  "  DUCHESS  "   17 

husband,  wouldn't  be  considered  a  bed  of  roses  by 
any  woman.  In  any  case  the  "  Duchess "  was 
soon  overrun  with  trade.  Even  old  ladies  who 
hadn't  been  to  the  village  for  years,  came  to  see 
her  under  one  pretext  or  another.  One  wanted  a 
new  cap ;  another  patted  her  on  the  shoulder  pat- 
ronizingly and  said: 

"  I  think  my  old  one  will  do  if  freshened  up  with 
a  bit  of  new  ribbon  adjusted  by  your  deft  fingers." 

One  day,  the  first  of  October,  a  distinguished 
looking  gentleman  driving  a  pair  of  spirited  black 
horses  stopped  at  the  inn  for  dinner.  As  soon  as 
the  stranger  entered  the  house  and  the  horses 
were  taken  around  to  the  stable,  every  man  at  the 
corner  store  made  it  his  way  to  have  a  look  at 
the  unusually  fine  equipage.  Mr.  Bailey,  the 
store-keeper,  who  knew  something  about  horses, 
said: 

"  That's  a  fine  pair.  Match  to  a  t,  even  to 
the  white  stars  in  their  foreheads." 

"  That  may  be,"  rejoined  Daddy  Cooms,  who 
never  owned  the  clothes  on  his  back,  "  but  they 
wouldn't  hold  a  candle  to  the  pair  I  had  when  I 
lived  in  Platsburg." 

Thereupon  Jim  Downs  put  in  an  appearance 
and  had  something  to  say  regarding  the  noble  ani- 
mals. All  too  soon  for  the  loafers'  pleasure,  the 
gentleman  ordered  his  carriage  and  rode  away. 
You  can  imagine  what  gaping  there  was  among 
them  when  they  saw  him  stop  at  the  home  of  the 
"  Duchess."  The  excitement  reached  its  climax 


18       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

when  they  saw  her  come  out,  closely  veiled,  and 
ride  away  with  him.  It  was  all  explained,  however, 
when  the  Diocville  Republican  came  the  next  day. 
That  gave  a  detailed  account  of  a  wedding  that 
took  place  at  Lyndon  Crossroads  the  night  before. 
The  readers  could  scarcely  believe  their  eyes  when 
they  saw  that  Katherine  Marvin  Starkey  had  be- 
come the  bride  of  Francis  Norton  Gray,  a 
wealthy  planter  from  Australia. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  FORTUNE  TELLER 

Mrs.  Bradley  cautioned  Rachel  Winn  about  go- 
ing off  too  far  alone.  In  spite  of  that,  one  day, 
lured  on  by  murmuring  streams  and  whispering 
breezes,  she  took  no  note  of  time  or  of  the  dis- 
tance and  before  she  knew  it  was1  half-way  up 
Mt.  Manson.  Stopping  to  take  breath,  she 
turned  and  saw  inky  black  clouds  pierced  with 
forked  lightning  piled  high  in  the  west.  Before 
she  had  time  to  retrace  her  steps  the  thunder 
came  crash  upon  crash,  till  it  seemed  as  if  the 
mountains  were  being  rent  from  their  foundations. 
The  wind  increased  in  force,  and  mammoth  trees 
swayed  to  and  fro  like  so  many  withes.  Nearly 
paralyzed  with  fear,  Rachel  sought  shelter  be- 
neath an  overhanging  boulder.  She  had  no  more 
than  reached  the  place  of  safety  when  the  storm 
broke  over  the  mountain.  It  soon  spent  its  fury, 
however,  and  the  sun  came  out  all  the  brighter 
for  having  had  its  face  washed. 

Then  the  girl  began  to  wonder  how  she  was  to 
find  her  way  down  the  steep  slope.  Every  trace 
of  her  footprints  had  been  obliterated  by  the 
downpour  of  rain.  The  thought  that  she  might 
have  to  remain  there  all  night  and  no  knowing 
how  much  longer  was  appalling. 

19 


Every  tree  and  shrub  was  loaded  with  rain- 
drops, and  the  thickly  growing  ferns  beneath  them 
were  simply  drenched.  Rachel's  bedraggled  skirts 
impeded  walking,  and  in  zigzagging  from  side  to 
side  she  lost  her  way.  After  wandering  about 
some  time  she  finally  came  to  the  blazed  trail,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  a  path.  It  had  been  washed 
away ;  in  its  place  only  a  deep  gulch  remained.  As 
that  was  impassable,  she  crept  along  through  un- 
derbrush and  treetops  left  by  the  woodsmen. 

Rachel  noticed  that  the  sun  was  rapidly  going 
down.  All  the  horrible  things  that  a  vivid  imag- 
ination could  picture  were  passing  through  her 
mind  when  she  saw  a  shaft  of  smoke  rising  in  the 
distance.  While  wondering  if  it  were  really 
smoke,  or  if  it  were  only  fog  rising  from  some  pool 
of  water,  it  melted  into  a  purple  haze  and  crept 
along  over  the  meadows.  In  her  haste  to  reach  the 
dwelling  whence  it  came,  she  stumbled  over  rocks 
and  thorny  brambles. 

"  Never  mind,"  Rachel  thought,  "  once  there  and 
I  shall  be  safe." 

Nearing  the  old  shack,  which  stood  at  the  edge 
of  the  woods,  she  hesitated  about  asking  favors 
of  one  who  lived  in  such  a  rude  structure.  There 
was  no  alternative,  however;  she  had  lost  her  way 
and  was  unable  to  reach  the  village  without  the 
aid  of  some  one.  It  seemed  an  interminable 
length  of  time  after  she  knocked  at  the  casement 
of  the  half-open  door  before  there  was  any  re- 
sponse. Finally,  who  should  appear  but  "  dark 


THE  FORTUNE  TELLER  *1 

Marjory,"  the  fortune  teller.  Rachel  recognized 
her  at  once  from  the  description  given  by  the  Bar- 
ton woman,  her  fellow  passenger  on  the  coach, 
and  from  what  the  village  boys  and  girls  had  told 
her.  Since  she  had  promised  herself  that  some 
day  she  would  hear  what  the  strange  woman  had 
to  say  about  her  future,  Rachel  thought :  "  Isn't 
this  remarkable  that  I  should  be  brought  to  her 
very  door?  "  Still,  she  felt  somewhat  timid  when 
she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  mysterious 
character.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  girl 
found  words  to  explain  the  situation. 

In  spite  of  the  woman's  threadbare  garments, 
she  looked  a  veritable  queen.  From  her  tall,  erect 
figure  and  dark  skin,  bronzed  by  exposure,  one 
might  have  supposed  that  she  descended  from  some 
race  of  red  men,  but  her  graceful  bearing  and  gen- 
tle manners  were  undeniable  evidence  that  patrician 
blood  coursed  her  veins. 

Was  it  because  of  her  youth  and  inexperience 
that  Rachel  was  attracted  to  the  strange  woman 
the  moment  she  heard  her  dulcet  voice,  or  was  it 
by  some  subtle  charm  which  she  held  over  her? 

The  fortune  teller  spoke  in  perfect  English  at 
first,  then  she  began  a  low  muttering  in  French 
and  at  the  same  time  fumbled  something  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress.  After  the  incoherent  mum- 
bling ceased,  she  urged  Rachel  to  remove  her  wet 
clothing  and  dry  it  by  the  fire.  The  wanderer 
gladly  acted  upon  her  suggestion.  She  had  been 
thinking : 


22       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  A  pretty  figure  I  shall  make  returning  to  the 
village  in  this  plight." 

True  to  what  the  Barton  woman  said,  there  were 
the  three  black  cats.  At  the  sound  of  rattling 
dishes  they  all  gave  one  prolonged  meow,  lapped 
their  chops  and  sat  down  on  their  haunches  to 
await  further  proceedings. 

"  Have  a  cup  of  tea  with  me,"  said  the  fortune 
teller  to  her  guest,  "  and  I  will  see  what  the  future 
holds  for  you." 

Rachel  thanked  her,  but  it  was  with  considerable 
hesitancy  that  she  accepted  the  invitation.  She 
had  been  told  that  tea  was  injurious  to  the  com- 
plexion, so  while  making  a  pretense  of  drinking 
she  poured  the  greater  part  of  the  fragrant  bever- 
age into  a  flower-pot  beside  her.  As  the  life- 
reader  turned  the  cup  round  and  round  in  her 
hand  she  looked  into  it  and  said: 

"  I  see  a  letter  and  a  would-be  lover !  "  An 
expression  of  incredulity  must  have  passed  over 
Rachel's  face,  for  the  woman  continued,  saying: 
"  Truth  it  is  I  tell  you.  And  he  carries  something 
over  his  shoulder.  Perhaps  he  is  an  artist  with 
his  trappings."  Before  Rachel  had  time  to  reply 
the  woman  mused :  "  Beware,  young  girl,  be- 
ware." Then  she  said:  "What  folly!  Why 
warn  a  fair-haired  maid?  Love  will  fall  as  lightly 
upon  her  heart  as  the  evening  dew  does  upon  a 
rose." 

"Oh!"  Rachel  ejaculated,  "then  you  think 
them  incapable  of  real  affection." 


THE  FORTUNE  TELLER  23 

"  No,  not  that  exactly,  but  it  is  the  dark-eyed 
maiden  who  goes  on  loving,  even  when  her  heart 
is  broken." 

The  poor  demented  creature  soon  forgot  that 
she  was  reading  Rachel's  fortune  and  began  telling 
her  own  sad  life-story.  The  woman  told  Rachel 
that  she  was  born  in  France,  and  that  while  on  the 
way  to  America  her  mother  died.  Then  came  an 
account  of  grieving  for  the  lost  parent,  and  of 
the  unhappy  days  spent  with  her  father,  who  soon 
placed  her  in  a  convent.  There  it  seems  she  re- 
mained till  she  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  rarely 
hearing  from  her  father  except  through  the  sister 
superior.  The  color  came  to  the  woman's  cheeks 
and  her  eyes  flashed  with  indignation  as  she  said: 

"  When  I  left  that  institution  the  remittance 
which  had  been  sent  quarterly  no  longer  came,  and 
I  was  compelled  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  earn 
my  own  living.  Think  of  it,"  said  she  with  in- 
creasing resentment,  "  my  father,  who  should  have 
been  my  protector,  has  been  living  in  luxury  all 
these  years  while  I  have  suffered  the  pangs  of  hun- 
ger, and,  worse  still,  have  been  looked  upon  with 
suspicion." 

Rachel  knew  the  last  statement  to  be  true. 
Many  of  the  villagers  spoke  of  "  dark  Marjory  " 
as  some  immoral  creature  who  doubtless  had  for 
some  reason  come  away  from  her  kind  to  live  in 
seclusion.  And  all  because  she  concealed  her  great 
sorrow  instead  of  parading  it  before  an  unsympa- 
thetic world. 


24       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

To  return  to  the  fortune  teller's  story:  It  was 
at  a  banking  house  in  New  York  that  she  first 
saw  her  husband-to-be.  Upon  his  arrival  in  the 
new  world  he  called  at  the  bank  to  exchange  his 
remaining  francs  for  American  money.  By  some 
inexplicable  influence  the  young  woman  at  a  desk 
near  the  paying  teller's  counter  was  led  to  look 
up  at  the  stranger.  Their  eyes  met  and  by  the 
invisible  force  more  subtle  than  that  which  at- 
tracts steel  to  the  magnet  their  souls  were  united. 

"  It  was  the  old  story  of  love  at  first  sight. 
And  though  it  was  told  in  a  fragmentary  way, 
the  thread  of  it  was  easily  followed."  Looking 
out  into  the  deepening  twilight  the  fortune  teller 
mused :  "  My  Francois  was  all  the  world  to  me." 
Then  she  told  of  the  delightful  walks  taken  with 
her  lover,  and  of  the  theatres,  balls  and  parties 
which  she  attended  with  him. 

Finally  the  woman  rose  and  went  into  the  ad- 
joining room.  By  a  slight  tap  of  her  heel  upon 
the  floor  one  of  the  boards  was  removed.  From 
beneath  it  she  took  a  willow  basket  which  contained 
a  beautiful  evening  gown  of  white  filmy  stuff 
trimmed  with  pearls  and  rare  old  lace.  A  wild, 
irrational  laugh  escaped  her  as  she  exclaimed: 

"  That  is  what  I  wore  when  the  fatal  step  was 
taken!  If  any  one  dares  say  that  I  am  not  the 
wife  of  Fran9ois  Bourdillon  I'll  flaunt  it  in  his 
face ! "  With  increasing  excitement  she  said : 
"  I  swear  by  all  the  gods  in  heaven  and  all  the  imps 
in  hell  that  when  I  wear  it  again  it  will  be  in  the 


THE  FORTUNE  TELLER  25 

presence  of  Him  who,  being  pure,  sees  no  evil !  '* 

Rachel  trembled  at  this  outburst,  but  the  next 
moment  the  woman  was  perfectly  calm  and  began 
telling  about  her  child  that  died  in  infancy.  That 
brought  on  a  paroxysm  of  grief.  The  poor  thing 
wept  piteously  when  she  said  that  it  was  soon 
after  the  child's  death  that  her  husband  confessed 
to  having  left  the  priesthood  for  the  pleasures  of 
the  world. 

"  I  couldn't  believe  him  at  first,"  the  woman  said. 
"  I  thought  it  only  idle  talk.  When  I  found  it 
to  be  true  my  heart  was  broken,  and  something 
seemed  to  give  way  in  my  aching  head.  As  you 
see,  I  am  no  longer  like  other  people. 

"  Child,"  she  went  on,  "  failing  to  keep  a  sol- 
emn vow  is  a  deplorable  act.  But  much  greater 
is  the  crime  when  a  man  breaks  his  vows  to  the 
Almighty.  It  is  all  over  with  him.  It  were  better 
had  he  never  been  born. 

"  How  I  begged  my  husband  to  return  to  his 
duties  and  thus  expiate  the  wrong.  That  he  re- 
fused to  do  while  he  had  me.  Though  I  loved  him 
with  all  my  heart  and  with  all  my  soul,  I  could 
no  longer  respect  him.  And  let  me  tell  you  that 
it  is  far  more  degrading  for  a  woman  to  live  with 
a  man  whom  she  loves  and  cannot  respect  than 
with  one  whom  she  respects  but  is  unable  to  love. 
So  to  be  loyal  both  to  myself  and  to  him  I  came 
away." 

"  Oh,  how  could  you  ?  "  Rachel  ventured  to  ask. 
The  woman  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  to  say : 


26       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  night !  There  lay 
my  Fran£ois,  sleeping  as  sweetly  as  a  babe  when 
I  crept  in  to  have  one  last  look  at  his  handsome 
face.  When  I  passed  the  little  empty  crib  my 
heart  almost  failed  me.  I  hesitated,  and  was 
about  to  remove  my  wraps  when  something  seemed 
to  say:  'Are  you  also  a  weakling?'  I  faltered 
no  longer,  but  hurried  out  into  the  darkness. 

"  I  took  the  midnight  train  for  Boston,  where 
I  soon  found  employment  as  teacher  of  French. 
All  too  soon,  however,  unforeseen  circumstances 
arose  which  compelled  me  to  seek  employment  else- 
where. As  I  gave  evasive  answers  regarding  my 
private  affairs,  the  mother  of  my  pupils  became 
anxious  lest  I  was  an  unfit  person  to  whom  to  en- 
trust her  children.  When  she  thought  no  one  was 
within  hearing  she  broached  the  subject  to  her 
husband,  expatiating  at  length  upon  the  harm  that 
might  come  from  having  one  in  her  family  of  whom 
she  knew  absolutely  nothing.  The  good  man,  who 
had  learned  when  it  was  too  late  that  he  had  been 
duped  by  a  pretty  girl,  made  no  reply.  Finally 
he  ventured  to  say: 

"  *  There  seems  nothing  wrong  about  the  young 
woman  except  that  she  doesn't  care  to  discuss  her 
private  affairs.'  That  infuriated  his  wife,  and 
she  retorted,  saying: 

"  *  The  reason  for  your  lack  of  interest  in  this 
important  matter  is  evident.  Your  undue  friend- 
liness with  the  woman  who  poses  as  a  French 
teacher  has  been  quite  obvious  of  late.' 


THE  FORTUNE  TELLER  27 

"  '  To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,'  said  Mr. 
Wilds,  whose  ire  was  aroused  by  the  false  accu- 
sation. 

"  That  her  husband  suspected  her  of  having 
deceived  him  was  too  much  for  the  woman.  She 
made  no  reply,  but  when  he  turned  around  she 
was  about  to  faint.  At  sight  of  the  wife's  condi- 
tion the  man  was  terrified,  and  immediately  called 
the  family  doctor.  The  old  gentleman  well  knew 
the  trouble  was  occasioned  by  some  domestic  infe- 
licity, but  very  wisely  diagnosed  the  case  as  one 
of  nerves.  After  writing  a  prescription  and  giv- 
ing orders  that  the  patient  be  kept  perfectly  quiet 
for  a  couple  of  weeks,  he  went  away.  The  peni- 
tent husband  saw  to  it  that  the  physician's  or- 
ders were  carried  out.  The  following  day  the 
children  were  sent  into  the  country,  and  I  was 
discharged." 

"  Oh,  how  shameful !  "  Rachel  exclaimed.  "  And 
all  on  account  of  that  deceitful  woman." 

"  That  is  life,"  said  the  fortune  teller.  "  When 
I  wrote  Mrs.  Wilds,  asking  for  a  recommendation, 
she  declined  to  grant  my  request.  She  said  that 
it  would  be  unfair  to  vouch  for  one  of  whom  she 
knew  so  little.  A  week  later  one  of  the  daily  pa- 
pers came  out  with  a  notice  which  said :  '  Beware 
of  an  attractive  young  woman  who  under  the  pre- 
tense of  being  a  teacher  of  French  is  trying  to 
gain  entrance  to  the  homes  of  the  well-to-do. 
Theft  is  doubtless  her  object.' 

"  That   ended   all   hope   of  procuring   another 


28       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

situation  to  my  taste,"  said  the  story-teller. 
"  Closely  veiled,  I  went  out  day  after  day,  seeking 
employment  as  seamstress, —  all  to  no  avail. 
Finally,  my  money  being  nearly  gone,  I  took  a 
place  as  chambermaid  in  a  fashionable  hotel. 
Scarcely  had  a  week  passed  when,  upon  entering 
the  room  of  one  of  the  guests,  a  bloated,  half-in- 
toxicated man  attempted  to  embrace  me.  To 
escape  further  insult  I  left  the  house  without  even 
stopping  to  give  my  notice." 

Rachel's  sympathies  were  so  wrought  upon  that 
two  tears  were  coursing  down  her  cheeks  before 
she  was  aware  of  it.  A  blush  came  to  her  face 
as  she  wondered  whether  or  not  her  mother  would 
approve  of  her  listening  to  such  tales,  even  though 
they  were  true.  There  seemed  to  be  no  alterna- 
tive, however,  for  the  woman  went  on,  saying : 

"  My  last  position  was  that  of  nursery-maid  in 
a  physician's  family.  In  a  home  where  wealth 
and  luxury  was  displayed  on  every  hand  I  felt 
that  I  had  finally  reached  a  haven  of  peace.  But, 
alas,  the  mistress  proved  to  be  a  flighty,  shallow- 
minded  woman  who  cared  little  for  her  beautiful 
child  and  less  for  her  husband.  There  was  no 
congeniality  between  the  couple,  and  all  show  of 
affection  was  merely  a  pretense.  As  I  daily  saw 
the  existing  state  of  affairs,  my  heart  sank  within 
me.  I  sometimes  questioned  if  such  a  thing  as 
sincerity  existed.  With  the  coming  of  spring  the 
young  mother  suggested  taking  a  trip  to  Europe 
and  leaving  me  in  charge  of  her  child.  I  agreed 


29 

to  remain,  and  fully  intended  to,  but  something 
happened  the  night  before  the  woman  was  to  sail 
that  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  keep  my  prom- 
ise." 

"  What  could  have  occurred  to  change  your 
mind  at  that  late  hour?  "  Rachel  queried. 

"  The  doctor  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  to  the 
nursery  frequently.  It  seemed  very  nice  of  him 
to  be  so  interested  in  little  Philip,  but  when  he 
hinted  that  I  was  the  attraction  which  brought 
him  there,  I  thought  it  high  time  to  leave  his  house. 
I  made  no  effort  to  find  another  situation,  and  lest  I 
lose  faith  in  all  mankind,  I  came  away  to  live  in 
the  peace  and  purity  which  Nature  gives." 

The  trials  with  which  the  woman  was  beset  in 
a  great  city  having  been  told,  she  stroked  the  folds 
of  the  bridal  robe  with  her  hands,  and  said : 

"  This  and  a  few  other  articles  of  clothing  were 
all  that  I  brought  from  home.  With  such  trouble 
I  little  thought  that  I  should  live  so  long."  She 
lowered  her  voice,  as  if  some  one  might  be  listen- 
ing, and  said :  "  Nearly  a  year  ago  I  heard  that 
a  man  in  the  garb  of  a  monk  had  taken  up  his 
abode  in  the  old  furnace.  My  first  thought  was: 
'  Can  it  be  that  my  Fra^ois  has  also  wearied  of 
the  world  and  come  away  to  the  hills?  '  To  make 
sure  whether  or  not  it  was  he,  I  ventured  up  to 
the  old  ruin  at  the  dead  hours  of  night.  The 
moon  was  just  coming  up  over  the  mountains  and 
by  a  single  ray  of  its  pallid  light  his  face  was 
revealed." 


30       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  And  was  it  really  your  husband?  "  Rachel 
asked  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman  mournfully.  "  And 
when  I  saw  his  worn  and  haggard  face  I  was  filled 
with  remorse.  I  was  about  to  throw  myself  upon 
his  heaving  breast  and  implore  his  forgiveness  for 
having  left  him  when  the  same  voice  that  spoke  to 
me  so  long  ago  whispered :  '  Are  you  also  a  weak- 
ling? '  " 

Again  the  fortune  teller  counted  her  beads. 
Again  she  murmured  a  prayer.  Then  she  said 
to  Rachel: 

"  Now  you  are  wondering  why  I  don't  leave  Old 
Riverby  and  seek  a  home  elsewhere.  You  will 
cease  to  wonder  when  the  master  passion,  love, 
takes  possession  of  your  heart.  Then  you  will 
understand  woman's  weakness.  You  will  learn, 
perhaps  to  your  sorrow,  that  to  breathe  the  same 
atmosphere,  to  look  upon  the  same  scenes,  and  to 
watch  the  ever  changing  seasons  with  him  you  love, 
even  though  he  is  unaware  of  your  presence,  give 
some  degree  of  happiness." 

By  that  time  the  twilight  had  merged  into  dusk. 
Even  then  Rachel's  new-found  friend  declined  to 
accompany  her  to  the  village,  but  after  the  girl 
made  a  solemn  promise  never  to  reveal  her  secret 
the  woman  led  the  way  out  to  the  highroad. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  FUNERAL 

The  scribe  has  often  wondered  if  city  life  tends 
to  dull  the  sympathies,  or  if  in  rural  districts 
death  is  more  thought  of  on  account  of  its  infre- 
quency.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  the  dweller 
in  a  great  metropolis  is  usually  unacquainted  with 
the  people  next  door  to  him.  Even  when  the  in- 
vincible guest  calls  them  to  higher  life  he  knows 
it  not,  unless,  perchance,  he  sees  mournful  looking 
streamers  suspended  from  their  bell-knob. 

How  different  in  the  country!  There  each  one 
has  a  personal  interest  in  his  neighbor  and  the 
boundary  of  the  neighborhood  is  unlimited.  When 
one  of  their  number  passes  on,  the  funeral  is  at- 
tended by  acquaintances  from  far  and  near.  The 
farmer  leaves  his  plowshare  in  the  mold,  he  dons 
his  Sunday  clothes,  his  Sunday  manners,  and  wends 
his  way  to  the  parish  church.  The  thrifty  house- 
wife also  leaves  her  task  unfinished  that  she,  too, 
may  be  present  at  the  performance  of  the  last  sad 
rites,  and  thus  assure  the  bereaved  family  of  her 
sympathy. 

A  dread  disease  claimed  many  victims  during 

Rachel  Winn's  first  season  at  Old  Riverby.     If 

31 


32       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

her  parents  had  known  of  the  danger  to  which 
she  was  exposed  they  would  have  sent  for  her  at 
once.  That  was  before  the  germ  theory  came 
into  fashion,  however,  and  people  attended  funerals 
without  the  least  thought  of  fear. 

Rachel,  never  having  been  present  upon  such 
an  occasion,  was  anxious  to  see  what  manner  of 
ceremony  was  performed.  When  a  young  girl, 
the  eldest  daughter  of  the  Burns  family  that  lived 
up  under  the  mountain,  was  taken  away  she  asked 
permission  to  attend  the  services  with  Mrs.  Brad- 
ley. 

About  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  church  were 
Deacon  Pilsbury  and  his  wife  from  Norwood. 
The  deacon's  horse  had  been  allowed  to  prance 
down  the  village  street  on  weekdays.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  creature  knew  that  it  was  not  Sunday, 
for  upon  being  reined  into  the  churchyard  he 
showed  his  disapproval  by  tearing  up  to  the  steps 
with  such  fury  that  the  buggy  was  nearly  upset. 
The  deacon's  hat  fell  off,  and  Mrs.  Pilsbury's  best 
bonnet  would  have  met  the  same  fate  except  for 
the  broad  ribbon  ties  which  were  securely  fastened 
under  her  chin.  As  it  was,  the  jolting  disar- 
ranged her  bonnet  so  that  the  flowers  upon  the 
congregation  side  mounted  high  above  her 
smoothly  parted  hair.  The  woman  wouldn't  have 
known  the  difference  if  Mintie  Mills  hadn't  come 
in  and  exclaimed: 

"Why,  of  all  things,  Mrs.  Pilsbury,  I  didn't 
know  that  it  was  the  fashion  to  have  the  trimming 


THE  FUNERAL  33 

of  one's  bonnet  on  the  top  of  it  instead  of  on  the 
side!" 

That  disturbed  the  old  lady  somewhat,  but  after 
Mrs.  Bradley  adjusted  her  headgear  she  went  up 
the  aisle  with  the  same  dignity  and  the  same  squeak 
in  her  shoes  that  it  was  her  wont  to  have.  It  was 
a  question  whether  Mrs.  Pilsbury  sat  three  seats 
nearer  the  pulpit  than  usual  that  she  might  see 
how  much  weeping  the  mourners  did,  or  if  she  was 
anxious  to  see  how  they  appeared  in  their  borrowed 
weeds.  In  any  case,  the  black  bonnet  belonging 
to  Mrs.  Bradley  which  was  worn  by  a  member  of 
the  bereaved  family  was  not  returned  to  its  owner 
till  late  in  the  fall.  One  day,  while  on  his  way  to 
Barton  with  a  load  of  grain,  Mr.  Burns  stopped 
at  the  inn,  and  what  should  be  dangling  from  one 
of  the  stakes  of  his  cart  but  that  crape  bonnet ! 

To  go  back  to  the  gathering  of  the  congrega- 
tion. Not  long  after  the  Pilsburys  arrived  teams 
were  seen  coming  from  both  directions,  while  others 
were  picking  their  way  down  over  the  rough  places 
on  Ripton  hill.  The  boys  smiled  audibly  when 
old  Doctor  Bronson  from  Barton  arrived.  His 
cream-colored  cob  was  harnessed  into  a  two- 
wheeled  sulky  which  was  covered  with  yellow 
posters,  that  declared  his  spring-bitters  to  be  the 
best  on  the  market. 

After  him  came  the  Peasleys,  all  wearing  white 
sunbonnets.  The  Peasley  family  consisted  of  a 
widow  and  her  seven  daughters.  If  the  truth  may 
be  told,  they  had  a  struggle  to  make  both  ends 


34       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

meet,  so  to  speak.  It  grieved  the  good  Christian 
mother  that  she  was  unable  to  buy  suitable  head- 
covering  in  which  her  children  could  appear  at 
church ;  therefore,  out  of  an  old  white  muslin  skirt 
that  she  had  before  her  marriage  she  fashioned  a 
sunbonnet  for  each  of  them.  Their  heads,  bob- 
bing up  and  down  with  every  step,  and  the  capes 
of  their  bonnets  fluttering  in  the  breeze  were  sug- 
gestive of  a  swarm  of  white  butterflies. 

There  seemed  no  difference  in  the  gathering  at 
the  church  from  that  of  Sundays  till  a  line  of 
carriages  was  seen  winding  its  way  down  the  moun- 
tain road.  First  in  the  procession  came  Mr. 
Bradley's  three-seated  wagon.  In  that  rode  the 
members  of  the  immediate  family  of  the  deceased. 
Then  came  a  long  wagon,  with  boards  laid  across 
for  seats,  and  two  or  three  buckboards. 

When  the  bereaved  family  entered  the  church 
all  conversation  was  carried  on  in  undertones. 
Rachel  Winn  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  solem- 
nity of  the  scene,  and  heartily  wished  that  she  had 
remained  at  home.  It  hadn't  occurred  to  her  that 
the  casket  would  be  carried  up  the  aisle,  followed 
by  the  weeping  mother  clinging  to  the  arm  of  her 
husband.  Nor  had  she  pictured  the  little  brothers 
and  sisters,  with  tear-stained  faces,  following  close 
to  their  parents.  She  suppressed  a  sob  as  the 
minister  broke  the  silence  by  saying,  very  slowly 
and  in  a  deep,  sonorous  voice: 

"  The  Lord  giveth  and  he  also  taketh  away,  and 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 


THE  FUNERAL  35 

Dr.  Quimby,  the  regular  preacher,  was  ill  and 
unable  to  officiate,  and  old  Parson  Mumford  of 
Lyndon  Crossroads  was  requested  to  fill  his  place. 
Mr.  Bradley  and  Farmer  Brooks  of  East  Branch 
exchanged  knowing  glances  when  the  venerable 
divine  mounted  the  rostrum,  and  a  suppressed  gig- 
gle came  from  the  seat  where  Belle  Bartlett  and  the 
new  schoolmistress  sat.  One  whispered  to  the 
other,  saying: 

"  Goodness  !  I  wonder  what  he  will  be  moved  to 
say  on  this  occasion !  " 

It  could  not  be  said  that  the  preacher  had  the 
corpulency  which  is  too  frequently  seen  in  men  of 
advanced  age  and  sedentary  habits.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  belonged  to  the  "  lean  and  hungry  "  type. 
The  baldness  of  his  head  extended  to  the  nape  of 
his  neck,  and  a  few  stray  hairs  on  either  side  of 
the  barren  waste  resembled  a  fringe  of  grass  bor- 
dering a  desert.  His  deep-set  grey  eyes  peered 
from  beneath  shaggy  brows,  and  his  falcon  nose 
kept  guard  over  a  wide  mouth  in  which  two  or 
three  belated  teeth  were  conspicuous. 

When  the  mourners  were  seated  and  quiet  per- 
vaded the  house,  except  for  the  voices  of  two  women 
near  the  door  who,  in  audible  whispers,  were  dis- 
cussing the  best  method  of  preserving  strawberries, 
the  parson  rose,  and  with  measured  tread  advanced 
to  the  praying-desk.  Raising  his  hand,  as  if  to 
pronounce  a  benediction,  he  reiterated  his  former 
statement : 


36      CHRONICLES  OP  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  The  Lord  giveth  and  he  also  taketh  away, 
and  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

Then  came  the  reading  of  a  hymn  that  was 
sung  by  a  choir  of  a  dozen  or  more  voices.  The 
words,  already  solemn,  were  made  doubly  so  by  a 
tune  in  long  meter,  and  by  each  member  of  the 
choir  making  a  strenuous  effort  to  outdo  his 
neighbor  in  giving  pathos.  Anne  Eliza  Jenkins 
droned  her  singing  to  such  length  that  when  the 
others  were  through  she  was  piping  up  in  a  shrill 
soprano: 

"  Our   days   are   as   the   grass    or   like   the   morning 
flower." 

The  singing  over,  and  the  bustle  attendant  upon 
the  people  again  getting  seated,  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman began  a  prayer  that  consumed  nearly  half 
an  hour.  That  was  supplemented  by  singing  an- 
other hymn  which,  if  possible,  was  more  doleful 
than  the  first  one.  Then  came  a  lengthy  discourse, 
beginning  with: 

"  The  Lord  giveth,"  and  so  on.  He  might  as 
well  have  taken  any  other  passage  of  Scripture 
for  his  text.  That  the  Lord  giveth  and  also  tak- 
eth away  met  with  small  consideration  compared 
with  the  detailed  account  of  everlasting  punish- 
ment which  the  speaker  declared  would  be  meted 
out  to  transgressors.  Gasping  for  breath  in  his 
excitement,  he  exhorted  all  present  to  take  heed 
lest  they  be  struck  down  without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing. Dante's  "  Inferno  "  would  pale  to  nothing- 


THE  FUNERAL  37 

ness  in  comparison  with  the  lake  of  fire  and  brim- 
stone vividly  portrayed.  Nearly  exhausted  with 
his  effort  to  set  forth  the  danger  of  sinning,  the 
preacher  began  an  address  to  the  mourners. 
After  expatiating  at  length  upon  the  virtues  of 
the  deceased  to  them  collectively,  he  appealed  to 
each  one  personally  to  follow  in  the  path  of  recti- 
tude which  had  been  trodden  by  the  loved  and  lost 
one.  When  nothing  further  could  be  said  regard- 
ing their  spiritual  welfare,  he  bethought  himself 
that  it  was  an  opportune  time  in  which  to  make 
a  few  suggestions  about  the  physical  good  of  the 
congregation.  He  began  by  saying: 

"  Naow,  bretherin  and  sisters,  jest  a  word 
'baout  this  turrible  disease  that  is  mowin'  daown 
both  good  and  bad.  The  Lord  be  praised  we've 
been  marcyfully  spared  over'n  aour  taown. 
Prob'ly  it's  because  we  took  time  by  the  forelock, 
so  to  speak.  When  any  one  of  us  has  a  tech  of 
sore  throat  we  take  a  piece  of  red  flannel  and  a 
thin  slice  of  fat  pork  with  a  dash  of  cayenne  pep- 
per thereon  and  bind  it  'round  the  offendin'  mem- 
ber. We  also  take  a  little  West  Injy  m'lasses  and 
put  a  dash  of  the  same  warmin'  ingregient  thereto 
and  let  it  bile  and  bile.  On  goin'  to  bed  we  take 
a  dose  of  that." 

It  is  doubtful  how  much  more  would  have  been 
said  on  the  subject  had  it  not  dawned  upon  the 
preacher  that  the  congregation  was  leaving  the 
church.  Many  who  seemed  in  haste  to  get  home 
lingered  about  the  vestibule  and  went  in  again  to 


38      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

view  the  remains  of  the  deceased.  Farmer  Bricket 
looked  at  the  sky,  noted  which  way  the  wind  was, 
and  called  out: 

"  Come,  Mandy,  don't  be  dawdlin'.  There's 
goin'  to  be  a  shower  and  old  Jim  don't  care  about 
gittin'  his  feet  wet !  " 

The  poor  woman  was  disappointed  with  having 
been  denied  the  privilege  accorded  her  neighbors, 
but  she  knew  her  husband  too  well  to  delay  after 
he  said  the  word. 

The  Stone  girls,  two  aged  spinsters,  went 
around  twice  to  make  sure  whether  the  burial  robe 
was  of  new  material,  or  if  it  was  an  outgrown 
dress  of  Susie  Byfield's  that  was  given  to  the  family 
when  they  were  burned  out  the  fall  before.  Mrs. 
Binley,  who  lived  neighbor  to  the  "  Duchess,"  told 
Mrs.  Bradley  that  it  seemed  a  pity  to  have  a  gold 
ring  buried  with  the  girl,  even  if  her  beau  did  give 
it  to  her.  Then  she  went  on  to  say: 

"  I  heard  something  said  about  taking  it  off, 
and  curiosity  or  no  curiosity,  I'm  goin'  'round 
again  to  see  whether  they  have  or  not." 

It  would  be  needless  to  say  that  Parson  Mum- 
ford's  untimely  remarks  were  the  talk  of  the  town 
for  the  next  two  weeks.  To  prevent  a  similar 
occurrence,  the  church  officers  decided  that  upon 
no  occasion  would  he  be  allowed  to  occupy  that 
pulpit  again. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  RED  MOROCCO  BIBLE 

Housed  for  nearly  a  week  by  a  drizzling  rain- 
storm, the  ladies  at  the  inn  became  nearly  dis- 
tracted with  Kensington  work.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  end  of  bitter-sweet  berries  on  Rachel  Winn's 
turquoise  table-cloth.  To  acquire  a  certain  de- 
gree of  composure  for  her  distraught  nerves,  she 
spent  one  day  in  making  necessary  repairs  on  her 
wardrobe.  Another  afternoon  was  consumed  in 
unfolding  and  counting  for  the  dozenth  time  the 
little  gifts  which  she  had  prepared  for  different 
members  of  her  family. 

There  was  a  pincushion  covered  with  bright 
beads  that  she  bought  of  the  "  Duchess',"  a  needle- 
book  tied  with  pink  ribbon,  and  birch-bark  napkin 
rings  for  everyone  in  her  household.  When  the 
key  turned  in  the  trunk  the  clock  struck  three. 
"  Three  hours  before  supper ! "  Rachel  thought. 
"  What  can  I  do  in  all  that  time?  " 

To  be  sure,  there  were  plenty  of  people  in  the 
house,  but  each  one  had  something  of  her  own 
affairs  to  attend  to.  The  dear  old  lady  Almy 
always  took  a  nap  from  three  till  five.  The 

woman    from    Chicago,   who  had   two   half-grown 

39 


40       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

daughters,  usually  gave  the  younger  one  a  cold 
shower  bath  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  Ev- 
eryone was  aware  of  that  fact,  for  the  unearthly 
shrieks  that  came  from  the  child  as  the  mother 
poured  ice-cold  water  down  her  spine  were  enough 
to  raise  the  roof  from  its  crossbeams.  Rachel 
might  have  gone  to  Miss  Beman's  room  and  heard 
for  the  hundredth  time  about  her  love  affairs,  all 
of  which  proved  a  failure.  That  didn't  appeal  to 
her,  however,  and  she  went  down  to  the  parlor. 

Samuel,  the  maltese  cat,  was  the  only  occupant. 
He  lay  stretched  out  on  the  hearthrug  fast  asleep. 
Rachel  played  snatches  from  one  piece  and  another 
on  the  piano.  When  she  began  singing  Keble's 
hymn,  "  Sun  of  my  Soul,"  Samuel  yawned,  gave 
one  meow,  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  again. 
The  girl  never  fully  decided  whether  the  cat's 
audible  expression  was  intended  for  an  encore,  or 
if  it  was  given  to  voice  his  disapproval  of  her 
performance. 

In  any  case,  Rachel  left  the  piano  to  examine 
the  contents  of  the  parlor  cabinet.  It  was  a  home- 
made affair  decorated  with  fruit  and  flowers  in 
leather-work.  A  long  green  box  filled  with  stereo- 
scopic views  found  place  on  the  top  shelf.  In  the 
front  of  that,  ranged  side  by  side,  stood  ambro- 
types  of  former  members  of  the  Bradley  family. 
One  of  them  portrayed  a  handsome  woman.  Her 
large  dark  eyes  and  her  cheeks,  with  a  flush  of  rose 
in  them,  were  set  off  by  a  wealth  of  lustrous  black 
hair.  The  hair  was  brought  down  over  the  ears 


THE  RED  MOROCCO  BIBLE  41 

and  carried  to  the  coil  at  the  back  of  the  head. 
She  wore  a  black  velvet  gown  with  flowing  sleeves 
edged  with  choice  lace.  The  neck  was  finished  with 
a  broad  lace  collar  caught  together  with  a  cameo 
pin.  Her  ear-rings  with  long  pendants  matched 
the  brooch.  Beside  this  picture  stood  one  of  a 
little  lad  in  a  figured  velvet  suit.  His  round, 
chubby  face  was  shaded  by  an  abundance  of  shin- 
ing ringlets. 

A  photograph  album  in  crimson  covers  con- 
tained more  recent  likenesses.  Old  Elder  some- 
body or  other  with  a  bald  head  occupied  the  first 
page.  Then  came  Grandma  Bradley  and  her  hus- 
band. While  Rachel  was  trying  to  make  out  the 
date  on  two  large  old-fashioned  coppers  which 
were  carefully  folded  in  a  scrap  of  yellow  paper, 
Mrs.  Bradley  came  in  and  casually  remarked: 

"  Those  have  been  used  for  generations  to  close 
the  eyes  of  deceased  members  of  the  family." 

"  Oh !  "  Rachel  exclaimed,  and  dropped  them  as 
if  they  had  been  red-hot  coals. 

Upon  the  second  shelf  lay  a  leather-covered 
hymn  book  worn  at  the  corners,  a  book  of  war 
songs  and  a  collection  of  old  ballads.  The  lower 
shelf  contained  a  history  of  the  United  States,  a 
story  of  the  life  of  Christ,  the  family  Bible  and  a 
few  other  books.  Mrs.  Bradley  took  up  a  small 
volume  and  said: 

"  That  is  the  first  book  that  I  ever  owned.  How  I 
used  to  weep  over  the  trials  of  Winnie  Malone,  the 
heroine !  I  am  thinking  that  if  such  doleful  tales 


42      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

were  written  for  children  in  these  days  they  would 
forever  remain  on  the  shelves  of  the  bookseller." 
Taking  up  a  small  morocco  Bible,  she  said: 
"  There  is  a  tale  of  true  love  connected  with  this 
little  volume.  I  only  wish  that  I  could  get  Uncle 
James  to  tell  us  about  it." 

Before  Mrs.  Bradley  had  time  to  make  further 
comment  the  side  door  opened  and  James  Farns- 
worth,  a  member  of  the  household,  entered.  Turn- 
ing to  him,  she  remarked : 

"  You  have  said  again  and  again  that  you 
would  tell  me  about  the  romance  concerning  this 
Bible.  Now,  I  am  going  to  hold  you  to  your 
promise." 

Uncle  James,  as  Mr.  Farnsworth  was  called  by 
the  villagers,  as  well  as  by  his  family,  was  a  bach- 
elor of  seventy  summers.  An  abundance  of  snowy 
locks  fell  about  his  broad  shoulders,  a  flush  of  pink 
was  still  upon  his  cheeks,  and  his  deep  blue  eyes 
were  expressive  of  gentleness  and  sweetness  of 
character.  He  was  something  of  a  recluse,  pre- 
ferring the  companionship  of  Nature  to  that  of 
his  fellow-men.  On  account  of  his  reticence,  it 
required  much  persuasion  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Bradley  to  induce  him  to  speak  of  his  early  love 
affair.  The  story  once  begun,  however,  he  forgot 
all  else,  and  in  fancy  lived  his  boyhood  days  over 
again.  In  the  beginning  he  said: 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  when  only  a  lad  I 
used  to  dream  of  leaving  Old  Riverby  and  going 
to  the  city  to  live.  From  what  I  saw  of  city  peo- 


THE  RED  MOROCCO  BIBLE  43 

pie  summering  here  in  the  mountains,  I  thought 
they  must  live  a  real  story-book  life.  They  had 
good  clothes  in  plenty,  fine  horses  and  carriages 
and  an  abundance  of  money.  What  more  could 
one  ask?  When  I  reached  the  self-sufficient  age 
of  seventeen  my  father  reluctantly  consented  to 
let  me  leave  home  and  try  my  hand  at  earning  my 
own  living."  The  story-teller  then  mused,  say- 
ing :  "  I  can  remember  just  how  everything  looked 
as  I  climbed  up  beside  the  stage  driver  the  morning 
I  went  away.  Tige,  the  yellow  and  white  hound 
that  we  had  had  ever  since  he  was  a  pup,  sat  at 
the  corner  of  the  house.  When  the  coach  started 
he  gave  an  unearthly  howl.  I  looked  back,  and 
there  stood  my  father  with  his  hands  in  his  trou- 
sers pockets  and  his  old  felt  hat  drawn  down  over 
his  eyes.  My  mother  was  drying  her  tears  with 
the  corner  of  her  apron,  while  sister  Julie  clung  to 
her  skirts  and  cried  for  me  to  come  back."  There- 
upon Rachel  ventured  to  say: 

"  Why,  my  brother  Robert  is'  already  eighteen 
and  he  wouldn't  think  of  leaving  home  to  go  among 
strangers." 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Mr.  Farnsworth.  Then 
he  continued,  saying:  "We  went  as  far  as 
Bridgeton  the  first  day.  On  the  next  we  arrived 
at  Compton,  where  I  felt  like  the  man  who  said 
he  couldn't  see  the  town  for  the  houses.  How 
vividly  the  barroom  in  that  old  Compton  tavern 
comes  to  me, —  the  long  counter  where  drinks  were 
served,  the  large  basket-bottomed  chairs,  and  the 


44       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERRY 

enormous  fireplace  which  was  piled  high  with  great 
maple  logs  that  smoked  and  sizzled! 

"  It  was  a  cold,  raw  day,  and  there  were  a  good 
many  guests  of  one  kind  and  another.  One  old 
fellow  took  no  note  of  time  —  just  sat  there  and 
snored,  till  the  proprietor  slapped  him  on  the  shoul- 
der and  told  him  that  he  had  better  hire  a  hall  if 
he  intended  giving  an  entertainment.  When  a 
rakish  looking  fellow  asked  me  if  I  was  a  stranger 
in  town,  I  gave  him  a  short  reply,  and  took  good 
care  that  my  few  shillings  were  safe  in  my  waist- 
coat pocket.  Doubtless  he  would  have  continued 
the  conversation  if  Mr.  Churchill  hadn't  called  me 
out  to  one  side." 

"  Who  was  Mr.  Churchill,  pray?  "  queried  Mrs. 
Bradley. 

"  Why,  that  was  the  man  who  hired  me  and 
took  me  to  Midland  some  ten  miles  away.  When 
it  began  to  grow  dusk  the  horses  quickened  their 
pace  and  trotted  briskly  along  till  we  reached  the 
farmhouse,  where  a  lighted  candle  stood  in  the 
window.  We  had  scarcely  halted  when  Mrs. 
Churchill  appeared  at  the  door  and  exclaimed: 

"'Why,  Nathan!  Has  anything  happened? 
You  are  fully  an  hour  late.' 

"  '  Perhaps  I  am,  mother,'  the  good  man  replied, 
'  but  when  you  see  the  prize  I  have  brought  home 
there  will  be  no  scolding.' 

"  *  Sakes  alive ! '  said  the  woman.  '  I  hope  you 
haven't  bargained  for  another  lot  of  salt  mackerel. 
There's  half  a  kit-full  down  cellar  now.  And  if 


THE  RED  MOROCCO  BIBLE  45 

you  have  bought  another  web  of  indigo  blue  calico, 
every  woman  in  the  neighborhood  will  have  to  buy 
a  dress  pattern  in  order  for  us  to  get  rid  of  it ! ' 
Mr.  Churchill  laughed  good-naturedly  and  said: 

"  '  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Maria,  that  I  have 
found  a  young  man  who  will  do  the  chores  about 
the  place  and  assist  you  with  the  dairy  work.' ' 

The  white  haired  man  sat  ruminating  for  a 
time;  then  he  continued,  saying: 

"  What  an  ideal  home  that  was  for  a  strange 
lad  to  go  into !  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Churchill  were 
God-fearing  people,  and  their  children,  Mary,  a 
girl  of  sixteen,  and  the  twin  boys,  five  years  of 
age,  were  carefully  brought  up."  Then  he  went 
on  to  say : 

"  How  plainly  that  low-studded  sitting-room 
comes  to  me.  A  large  mahogany  table  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and  an  old  settle  brought 
from  England  stood  by  the  fireplace.  It  was 
there  that  the  twins  read  their  a,  b,  c's  by  the  fire- 
light, or  fell  asleep  after  a  game  of  blindman's 
buff.  At  one  side  of  the  room  stood  a  long  sofa 
with  great  arms  at  either  end.  It  was  unadorned, 
either  by  crazy  patchwork  or  by  afghans,  but 
above  it  hung  an  exquisite  picture  in  needlework 
done  by  Mrs.  Churchill.  It  portrayed  '  Rebecca 
at  the  well.'" 

"  Why,  the  bitter-sweets  on  my  table-cloth 
would  pale  to  nothingness  in  comparison  to  such  a 
piece  of  work  as  that,"  Rachel  commented. 

"  They  might,"  said  the  story-teller,  "  if  one 


46       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

considered  that  the  most  of  the  woman's  spare 
time  was  consumed  in  darning  stockings,  or  mend- 
ing trousers  for  the  lively  twins."  Returning  to 
his  story,  the  old  gentleman  said :  "  I  had  been 
with  the  Churchills  three  years  and  more  when  my 
mother  was  taken  very  ill.  I  immediately  left 
Midland  for  home,  fully  intending  to  return  in  a 
few  weeks,  for,  in  spite  of  our  youth,  Mary 
Churchill  and  I  were  already  engaged.  I  was 
detained  beyond  my  expectation  to  be,  however, 
and  then,  upon  the  eve  of  returning  to  claim  Mary's 
hand  in  marriage,  I  received  a  letter  from  her 
saying  that  she  couldn't  think  of  leaving  her  par- 
ents while  she  was  still  so  young.  Thinking  that 
she  had  become  interested  in  some  one  else,  jealousy 
took  possession  of  me,  and  instead  of  making  any 
effort  to  learn  the  truth,  I  at  once  took  passage 
for  California.  Three  long  years  I  lived,  hoping 
against  hope  that  some  day  Mary  would  be  mine. 
Finally  I  learned  that  it  was  all  over  with  me ;  she 
had  married  Julius  Barstow,  a  promising  young 
lawyer." 

Though  the  disappointed  lover  traveled  in  many 
lands,  he  never  set  foot  in  Midland  again  till  the 
spring  before  he  sat  telling  the  tale  of  his  early 
romance.  In  explanation  he  said  that  he  was 
passing  through  the  town  on  his  way  to  Compton 
when  it  occurred  to  him  that  some  of  his  friends 
of  fifty  years  before  might  be  living.  His  desire 
to  hear  something  of  them  prompted  him  to  leave 
the  train  and  inquire  of  the  station  agent  regard- 


THE  RED  MOROCCO  BIBLE  47 

ing  the  Churchill  family.  When  told  that  they 
were  all  gone  except  the  widow  Barstow,  whom  the 
neighbors  spoke  of  as  Mary  Churchill,  he  decided 
to  call  upon  her.  In  continuing  he  said: 

"  When  the  tones  of  that  old  brass  knocker  re- 
sounded through  the  hall  my  heart  actually  stood 
still,  and  the  creaking  of  the  rusty  hinges,  as  the 
door  swung  back  upon  them,  added  another  note 
to  my  discomfort.  Before  Mrs.  Barstow  had  time 
to  reply  to  my  question  if  she  were  the  lady  of  the 
house,  I  asked  if  she  had  forgotten  her  girlhood 
friend.  Removing  her  spectacles,  she  exclaimed: 

"  '  Can  this  be  James  Farnsworth?  '  " 

Both  Mrs.  Bradley  and  Rachel  waited  in  breath- 
less silence,  wondering  what  would  come  next. 
Finally  the  old  gentleman  said: 

"  The  three  score  and  ten  years  have  dealt 
kindly  with  the  woman.  To  be  sure,  the  lustre  of 
youth  has  faded  from  her  eyes,  but  a  holier  light 
born  of  patience  and  forbearance  shines  forth  from 
them.  And  her  once  brown  hair  is  even  more  beau- 
tiful since  touched  by  Time's  frosty  fingers.  When 
I  rose  to  come  away  Mary  took  the  little  Bible 
from  the  bookcase  and,  passing  it  to  me,  said : 

"  *  This  is  yours ;  if  you  remember,  I  gave  it  to 
you  on  your  twentieth  birthday.' 

"  I  opened  the  book,  and  the  petals  of  a  four- 
leaf  clover  fell  to  the  floor.  Through  a  mist  of 
tears  our  eyes  met.  No  word  was  spoken,  but  the 
April  breeze  sighing  through  the  pines  at  the 
gateway  whispered  of  regret." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  CIRCUS 

That  the  circus  is  the  great  event  of  the  sum- 
mer season  in  a  country  village  is  a  well-known 
fact.  It  was  the  last  of  August  when  glowing 
advertisements  foretelling  its  coming  to  Old  Riv- 
erby  were  placed  upon  the  corner  store,  upon  the 
tumble-down  tavern,  and  upon  nearly  every  barn 
in  town.  Among  the  most  important  features 
portrayed  were  richly  caparisoned  horses  ridden 
by  gayly  dressed  women,  a  baby  elephant  be- 
decked in  silver  trappings,  a  camel  upon  which  the 
Siamese  twins  were  mounted,  and  a  trained  bear 
dancing  with  a  two-headed  girl.  It  was  the  can- 
did opinion  of  the  farmers  round  about  that  it 
would  surpass  any  show  that  had  ever  been  there. 
Many  of  them  decided  that,  rain  or  shine,  they 
would  take  a  day  off  and  see  it. 

One  morning  while  Johnnie  Lawson,  a  simple- 
minded  fellow,  was  standing  open-mouthed  before 
one  of  the  flaming  posters  Mr.  Bailey,  the  post- 
master, came  along,  and  said: 

"  Come,  come,  Johnnie,  don't  be  standing  there 
admiring  the  show  girls." 

"  You  go  'long !  I  ain't  dewin'  nothin'  of  the 
kind,"  said  the  youth,  "  but  I  sh'ld  like  to  ketch 

48 


THE  CIRCUS  49 

holt  of  that  woman's  clo'es  and  pull  'em  daown  a 
notch  or  tew." 

"  What,  don't  you  like  the  looks  of  her  cos- 
tume? " 

"  Like  it?  Wa'al  I  don't  s'pose  it'll  make  any 
diffunce  whe'er  I  dew  or  not;  she's  up  there 
and  I  cal'late  she  plans  on  stayin'  till  the  show's 
over." 

"  I  guess  she  will,"  said  Mr.  Bailey,  "  unless 
there  comes  a  heavy  rain." 

Great  preparations  were  made  for  the  coming 
event.  Every  housekeeper  in  the  village  cleaned 
her  windows,  dusted  her  braided  mats,  and  opened 
her  parlor  blinds  in  expectation  of  some  visitor. 
The  flower  gardens  were  cleared  of  weeds,  the 
plants  were  stripped  of  their  withered  blossoms, 
and  the  front  steps  of  every  one  of  the  company 
houses  shone  with  a  fresh  coat  of  slate-colored 
paint.  Then,  too,  several  of  the  boys  built  long 
tables  beneath  the  trees  at  the  roadside  for  the 
purpose  of  selling  maple  sugar,  corn-balls,  lem- 
onade and  doughnuts  to  the  patrons  of  the  ex- 
hibition. When  some  one  remarked  that  it  might 
rain  and  spoil  their  fun,  old  Grandpa  Miles,  stand- 
ing near,  said : 

"  I've  lived  here  nigh  on  to  seventy  year  and  I 
never  knowed  it  to  rain  of  a  circus  day  yet !  " 

The  mysterious  charm  by  which  the  show  agent 
governed  the  weather  has  never  been  explained, 
but  true  to  past  records,  the  morning  broke  per- 
fectly clear,  and  the  blue  haze  which  had  hovered 


about  the  mountains  for  a  week  or  more  gave  way 
to  the  sun. 

The  residents  of  a  city  wouldn't  think  of  start- 
ing early  in  the  morning  to  attend  a  matinee,  but 
before  eight  o'clock  the  day  of  the  circus  inhab- 
itants of  the  outlying  districts  began  to  gather  on 
the  village  green.  Some  of  them  hitched  their 
horses  in  the  sheds  at  the  rear  of  the  town-hall, 
others  tied  theirs  to  the  bordering  maples.  To 
be  sure,  they  each  had  errands  to  do.  Some 
brought  their  molasses  jugs  and  oil  cans  to  have 
them  filled,  others  took  time  by  the  forelock  and 
bought  material  for  their  winter  coats  and  trou- 
sers. And  some  there  were  who  got  married.  The 
guests  of  the  inn  were  still  at  breakfast  when  a 
sunburned  swain,  with  his  arm  around  his  buxom 
fiancee,  drove  up  to  the  side  door  and  called  out 
to  the  kitchen-girl,  saying: 

"  Is  the  jestice  of  the  peace  to  home?  " 

Susan,  the  scullery-maid,  was  "  a  button  short," 
as  the  English  would  say.  In  addition  to  her  other 
peculiarities  she  had  a  habit  of  stammering. 
Partly  opening  the  dining-room  door,  she  said: 

"  Mi-mi-mister  Bradley,  is  the  jestice  of  the 
pieces  here?  " 

It  required  only  a  glance  at  the  couple  for  the 
landlord  to  anticipate  their  errand.  When  he  in- 
quired of  the  young  man  what  he  could  do  for  him, 
the  rustic  replied: 

"  Wa'al,  yer  see  it's  this  way.  Me  an'  Betsy 
have  been  courtin'  quite  a  spell  'long  back,  and  I 


THE  CIRCUS  51 

thought  we  might's  well  git  hitched  while  we  was 
daown  to  the  cirkis  and  have  the  pesky  job  over 
with." 

Mr.  Bradley  led  the  way  to  the  parlor  where, 
in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Bradley  and  two  or  three 
of  the  guests,  the  couple  were  made  man  and  wife. 
The  groom  was  profuse  in  his  thanks  for  what  he 
termed  "  dewin'  the  job  up  braown."  He  felt 
first  in  one  pocket  and  then  in  another,  and  finally 
said: 

"  I  hain't  got  much  dosch  'baout  me  this  mornin* 
but  the  fust  time  I  come  to  the  village  I'll  bring 
yer  a  peck  of  the  hansomest  lady-finger  pertaters 
that  yer  ever  laid  yer  eyes  on.  They'll  bake  in- 
side of  fifteen  minutes  and  jest  melt  in  yer  maouth." 

It  might  have  been  nine  o'clock  when  an  elderly 
man  and  woman,  driving  a  typical  "  Rosinante," 
came  jogging  down  the  road.  From  their  gor- 
geous array  one  might  have  thought  that  they 
belonged  to  the  company  which  was  to  perform  in 
the  afternoon.  The  old  lady's  dress  was  an  in- 
digo blue  with  orange  flowers  scattered  over  it. 
Upon  her  head  she  wore  a  speckled  black  and  white 
shaker  bonnet  which  was  trimmed  with  a  band  of 
green  barege  around  the  crown,  and  a  cape  of  the 
same  material,  perhaps  half  a  yard  in  width,  fell 
over  her  shoulders.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a 
large  palm-leaf  fan.  The  flowing  grey  locks  of 
her  spouse  came  from  beneath  a  dilapidated  stove- 
pipe hat.  The  figured  cashmere  robe  which  he 
wore  reached  nearly  to  the  ground,  while  a  pair 


52      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

of  carpet  slippers,  down  at  the  heels,  covered  his 
feet. 

It  was  a  great  day  in  the  village,  and  a  busy 
one  for  the  landlady  of  the  inn.  Before  twelve 
o'clock  every  seat  at  the  long  tables  was  taken. 
There  were  young  men  and  their  sweethearts  and 
several  old  farmers,  who  under  the  pretense  of  buy- 
ing a  scythe  or  a  whetstone,  came  in  to  see  the 
show. 

Nearly  every  young  man's  hair  was  parted  in 
the  middle  and  combed  smoothly  down  at  the  sides. 
Instead  of  the  four-in-hand  tie  so  fashionable  at 
present,  each  refractory  collar  was  held  in  place 
by  a  bowknot  of  red,  blue  or  green.  The  girls 
were  in  light  muslins,  white  piques,  and  rose- 
trimmed  hats.  In  spite  of  their  bashfulness,  it 
was  plain  to  be  seen  that  they  were  delighted  to 
dine  at  a  public  house  with  their  beaux.  But 
it  is  doubtful  if  they  were  any  happier  than  the 
parents  who,  with  their  children,  sat  in  their  car- 
riages and  ate  a  luncheon  brought  from  home. 

Mr.  Carpenter,  the  village  photographer,  was 
overrun  with  business.  Of  course,  all  of  the  young 
people  wanted  to  exchange  tintypes.  Then  it  was 
an  opportune  time  for  parents  to  have  their  chil- 
dren's likenesses  taken.  Who  should  drive  up 
about  noon  but  Mrs.  Plimpton,  together  with  her 
three  sons  and  four  daughters.  While  the  mother 
hitched  the  horse  the  eldest  girl  assisted  the  other 
children  to  alight.  Then  came  the  adjusting  of 
Lydia's  bonnet  and  the  completing  of  buttoning 


THE  CIRCUS  53 

up  Ruth  Ann's  dress.  That  done,  the  woman 
pulled  Jonathan's  hat  down  till  it  rested  upon  the 
tops  of  his  ears.  The  youngster  just  in  trousers 
stood  like  a  martyr  while  she  scrubbed  his  face  with 
the  corner  of  her  handkerchief,  and  plastered  his 
hair  smoothly  back  from  his  forehead.  All  being 
ready,  they  marched  single  file  up  the  long  flight 
of  stairs  to  the  studio. 

Mr.  Carpenter  was  naturally  a  serious  man, 
but  when  he  saw  the  Plimptons  arrayed  before  him 
it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  refrained  from  laugh- 
ing. That  the  family  was  not  over-stocked  with 
this  world's  goods  was  a  well-known  fact,  but  the 
artist  hadn't  long  to  conjecture  as  to  where  the 
funds  came  from  to  pay  for  so  many  pictures. 
After  giving  another  touch  to  some  garment  of 
each  child,  Mrs.  Plimpton  said: 

"  No  wonder  that  you  are  surprised  to  see  me 
here  with  the  lot  of  'em!  The  truth  is  the  Mish- 
nery  'Ciety  sent  me  money  to  buy  shoes  for  the 
childern  so  they  could  go  to  Sunday  school.  That 
was  what  I  planned  on  doin'  when  I  started  out, 
but  on  the  way  down  to  the  village  I  bethought 
myself  that  the  poor  things  hain't  never  been  to 
a  circus,  and  that  I  hain't  got  a  likeness  of  one 
on  'em." 

The  photographer  was  a  religious  man.  Doubt- 
less his  conscience  whispered  that  it  was  wrong 
to  take  for  pictures  money  which  had  been  con- 
tributed for  the  furtherance  of  church  work,  but 
from  a  business  point  of  view  he  saw  no  harm  in 


54      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

it,  and  proceeded  to  group  the  family.  The  result 
was  that  Mrs.  Plimpton  became  the  happy  pos- 
sessor of  a  picture  of  her  brood  and  had  sufficient 
change  left  to  pay  entrance  fees  to  the  show. 

The  animals  belonging  to  the  hippodrome  came 
into  the  village  some  time  during  the  night.  All 
was  quiet,  except  for  the  braying  of  a  donkey,  till 
about  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Then  the 
thunderous  tones  of  a  bass  drum  announced  that 
the  show  was  about  to  begin.  From  Rachel 
Winn's  room  she  heard  the  peals  of  laughter  and 
thought  how  amusing  it  must  be. 

If  the  truth  may  be  told,  Rachel,  at  the  ad- 
vanced age  of  seventeen,  had  never  been  to  a  circus. 
With  every  outburst  of  applause  she  became  more 
and  more  convinced  that  her  early  education  had 
been  sadly  neglected.  Thereupon  she  decided  to 
take  the  reins  into  her  own  hands. 

"  There  is  to  be  another  performance  tonight ; 
why  should  I  not  attend?  "  she  thought.  The  idea 
had  no  more  than  taken  shape  in  her  mind  when 
she  seemed  to  hear  her  mother  say : 

"  You  certainly  cannot  go  alone !  " 

"  Of  course  not !  That  is  what  I  have  heard 
ever  since  I  can  remember." 

The  goddess  of  good  fortune  was  mindful  of  the 
girl,  however,  and  at  supper-time  an  artist  who 
was  stopping  at  the  inn  invited  her  to  go  to  the 
evening  exhibit  with  Dorcas  Pendleton,  the  village 
physician's  daughter,  and  himself. 

It  would  be  needless  to  say  that  they  went  suffi- 


THE  CIRCUS  55 

ciently  early  to  get  good  seats,  or  that  they  were 
plentifully  supplied  with  peanuts  and  sticks  of  pink 
and  white  striped  candy.  In  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  tent  was  a  flimsy  affair  dimly  lighted  by 
sperm  oil  lamps,  which  flickered  and  flared  in  the 
breeze,  every  seat  was  taken  in  less  than  half  an 
hour.  There  were  old  people  and  young  ones,  and 
children  of  all  ages,  even  to  babes  in  arms. 

The  band  struck  up  what  was  supposed  to  be  the 
"  Blue  Danube "  waltz.  Immediately  the  bare- 
back riders,  two  of  whom  were  women  in  abbrevi- 
ated costumes,  appeared  on  the  scene.  The  usual 
feats  of  cantering,  vaulting  and  hurdle  jumping 
over,  they  disappeared  amid  great  applause. 
Then  came  a  baby  elephant  that  waltzed  around 
and  picked  up  handkerchiefs  and  bits  of  candy  to 
the  delight  of  all  present.  Then  two  clowns  in 
grotesque  trappings  came  in.  One  asked  the 
other : 

"  Why  is  an  elephant  like  an  amateur  trav- 
eler?" 

"  I  dunno,  unless  it  is  because  it  wears  a  grey 
coat." 

"  No,  no,  guess  again !  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  it's  because  he  sees  all  the 
pretty  girls." 

"Oh!  You're  way  off7,"  said  the  jester. 
"  Why,  it  is  because  he  never  loses  sight  of  his 
trunk." 

Instead  of  a  camel  being  ridden  by  the  Siamese 
twins,  as  represented  on  the  posters,  the  diminu- 


56       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

tive  donkey  that  had  made  his  sonorous  voice 
heard  throughout  the  forenoon  was  mounted  by 
two  boys  tied  together  with  a  green  scarf.  The 
trained  bear  proved  to  be  nothing  more  than  a 
Newfoundland  dog  that  waltzed  with  a  girl  who 
wore  a  mask  over  her  face  and  another  upon  the 
back  of  her  head,  hence  the  two-headed  girl. 

A  hiss  came  from  the  rear  seats,  but  it  was 
immediately  drowned  by  the  applause  given  an 
Egyptian  snake  charmer  who  appeared  on  the 
scene.  Men  rose  in  their  seats  and  swung  their 
hats  as  they  cheered  the  daring  performer.  With- 
out the  least  fear  she  played  with  the  seemingly 
venomous  creatures  as  if  they  were  kittens.  To 
the  amazement  of  all,  she  wound  them  around  her 
waist  and  nestled  their  heads  upon  her  naked 
shoulders.  Some  in  the  audience  shrieked  and 
others  fainted, —  still  the  woman  continued  to 
fondle  the  largest  one;  she  even  put  her  fingers 
into  its  mouth.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproarious 
applause  came  a  loud  report.  Instantly  a  shower 
of  sawdust  burst  from  the  python's  side  and  com- 
pletely enveloped  the  fair  enchantress. 

One  can  readily  imagine  that  the  hearty  ap- 
plause changed  to  denunciation  of  the  manager  of 
the  fake  show.  There  is  no  knowing  what  might 
have  happened  to  him  except  for  the  timely  inter- 
vention of  the  constable  and  two  or  three  other 
influential  citizens,  who  saved  him  from  the  infu- 
riated crowd  and  assisted  him  to  leave  town  under 
the  cover  of  night. 


CHAPTER  VII 


One  dreamy,  hazy  afternoon  in  August  Mrs. 
Bradley  and  Rachel  Winn  drove  to  Norwood.  The 
fields  on  the  right  as  they  ascended  Ripton  Hill 
were  waving  with  golden  grain;  on  the  left,  black 
stumps  were  conspicuous  among  the  fireweed  that 
flaunted  its  bright  banners.  The  stillness  was 
broken  only  by  an  occasional  locust  that  poured 
forth  his  lazy  song. 

At  the  height  of  land  they  passed  a  small  one- 
story  dwelling  with  scarcely  a  window  from  which 
panes  of  glass  had  not  been  broken.  The  chimney 
was  topped  out  with  a  rusty  stovepipe,  the  shin- 
gles were  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  the  piazza 
across  the  front  was  littered  with  corn-husks,  green 
apples  and  tomatoes  left  there  to  ripen.  In  the 
unkempt  door-yard  stood  four  or  five  tow-headed, 
barefooted  children  in  blue  and  white  checked 
gingham  pinafores,  gaping  at  the  passers-by. 

"  Poor  Silas,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley,  "  how  differ- 
ent things  might  have  been."  Then  she  gave 
Rachel  a  detailed  account  of  the  tragedy  in  the 
life  of  him  who,  with  his  ever  increasing  family, 
occupied  the  squalid  home.  "  Yes,"  said  the 

woman  mournfully,  "  Silas  Marshall  was  one  of 

57 


58      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

the  most  promising  young  men  in  Old  Riverby  ten 
years  ago.  Think  of  him  now  with  his  slovenly 
wife  and  that  brood  of  unattractive  children ! " 

"  Why,  how  came  he  to  marry  one  so  much  be- 
neath him  ?  "  Rachel  queried. 

"  Oh,  it  was  another  case  of  a  man  taking  up 
with  any  kind  of  a  woman  when  he  fails  to  get  the 
one  he  wants." 

"  Then  he  cared  for  some  one  else?  " 

"  Yes,  and  his  devotion  for  Laura  Burton  began 
when  he  was  a  mere  lad.  Laura  was  about  fifteen 
when  by  her  grandfather's  will  she  was  enabled  to 
have  a  melodeon.  No  one  thought  anything  of 
Silas  spending  Sunday  evenings  with  her.  She 
played  for  her  own  pleasure  and  profit ;  if  he  en- 
joyed  hearing  her  surely  there  was  no  harm  in 
that.  In  time  she  became  quite  proficient  in  mu- 
sic. When  the  church  organ  was  bought  Laura 
was  engaged  to  play  it." 

"  And  did  Mr.  Marshall  still  wait  upon  her  ?  " 
Rachel  ventured  to  ask. 

"  Yes,  and  no.  Why,  he  walked  home  with  her 
from  church  the  same  as  he  had  always  done,  but 
after  a  while,  to  the  amazement  of  everyone,  it 
became  known  that  she  was  infatuated  with  Mor- 
ton Phelps,  a  dapper  young  man  who  stopped  at 
one  of  the  mountain  hotels.  It  was  not  till  the 
stranger  had  won  Laura's  heart  that  Silas  realized 
what  a  mistake  he  had  made  in  not  declaring  his 
love  for  her  long  before.  His  reason  told  him  that 
it  was  all  over  with  him,  but  his  heart  said  no, 


UNREQUITED  LOVE  59 

and  he  went  to  the  girl  and  told  her  of  his  fond- 
ness for  her.  She  was  as  much  startled  by  the 
declaration  as  he  was  that  he  had  made  it. 

"  '  It  has  taken  you  sometime  to  reach  a  con- 
clusion regarding  your  affection  for  me,'  Laura 
said  lightly. 

"  '  I  should  have  spoken  long  ago,'  returned 
Silas,  '  only  that  I  thought  you  knew  it  all  the 
while.  You  surely  will  not  think  of  marrying 
that  stranger,  and  thus  wreck  both  your  own  life 
and  mine ! ' 

"  '  How  absurd ! '  Laura  retorted.  '  You  know 
that  I  am  devoted  to  my  music,  and  I  can  assure 
you  that  I  have  no  intention  of  giving  it  up  for 
matrimony.' 

"  You  see,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley,  "  the  girl  had 
regarded  Silas  as  a  friend  —  nothing  more.  Her 
only  regret  in  the  matter  was  that  she  had  injured 
him  whom  she  so  highly  respected.  Everyone 
pitied  the  young  man,  but  the  only  evidence  of  his 
disappointment  was  that  he  lost  interest  in  his  old 
companions  and  was  rarely  seen  at  the  village. 

"  Laura  was  in  a  state  of  pleasurable  excitement 
all  the  while.  Why  should  she  not  be  with  youth, 
talent  and  the  devotion  of  a  handsome  young  man 
who  seemed  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship  her? 

"  The  summer  passed  all  too  soon  for  the  lovers, 
and  the  seat  in  church  occupied  by  the  stranger 
was  vacant.  The  color  faded  from  Laura's 
cheeks,  and  the  habitual  smile  no  longer  played 
about  her  mouth. 


"  *  I'm  sorry  for  her,'  said  Mrs.  Beal,  as  we 
came  out  of  church  one  Sunday.  '  But  she  is  old 
enough  to  know  that  that  fop  doesn't  want  any- 
thing of  her  but  to  amuse  himself  while  away  from 
his  city  friends.'  Then  who  should  pipe  up  with 
an  opinion  but  Mrs.  Binley,  who  said: 

"  '  I  believe  that  Mrs.  Burton  is  wholly  to  blame 
for  her  daughter's  conduct.  Why  hasn't  she 
taught  her  that  "  the  lust  of  the  flesh  Idlleth  the 
spirit."  ' 

"  Oh !  People  are  bound  to  talk,"  declared 
Mrs.  Bradley.  Then  she  went  on  to  say :  "  With 
the  return  of  summer  came  Morton  Phelps,  more 
ardent  in  his  devotion  for  Laura  than  ever.  It 
was  a  question  among  the  villagers  whether  it  was 
the  tonic  prescribed  by  Doctor  Pendleton  or  if 
It  were  the  presence  of  the  young  man  that  brought 
the  roses  back  to  her  cheeks.  The  girl  wasn't  so 
much  to  blame  for  being  infatuated.  Even  the 
married  women  admired  Morton  Phelps'  charming 
manners,  and  didn't  hesitate  to  remark  upon  the 
striking  figure  he  made  when  riding  about  the 
country  on  his  chestnut  thoroughbred. 

"  Laura  well  knew  that  people  were  criticising 
her  for  receiving  attention  from  one  of  whose  past 
life  she  knew  absolutely  nothing.  Still  she  con- 
tinued to  walk  and  ride  with  him  at  every  oppor- 
tunity. When  fall  came,  like  the  other  migratory 
birds,  he  took  his  departure.  After  all  their  in- 
timacy there  was  no  engagement  ring  upon  the 
girl's  finger.  That  proved  too  much  for  her 


UNREQUITED  LOVE  61 

proud,  sensitive  spirit  and  with  the  falling  of  the 
leaves  she  began  to  fade.  It  was  a  hard  struggle 
that  the  poor  child  made  for  life.  In  spite  of 
unkind  remarks  made  by  some  of  the  villagers, 
there  was  not  one  among  them  who  did  not  feel 
a  personal  loss  when  the  sweet  girl  was  no  longer 
with  us." 

"  The  first  lover  was  equally  false,"  Rachel  ven- 
tured to  say.  "  It  seems  that  he  no  sooner  lost 
his  sweetheart  than  he  married  some  one  else." 

"  Silas  Marshall  was  a  sincere  mourner,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Bradley  with  considerable  emphasis. 
"  The  villagers  still  believe  that  he  would  have 
been  single  to  this  day  if  that  bold  character  had 
been  less  persistent  in  following  him  up !  " 

Rachel  was  glad  when  they  reached  Norwood. 
The  bright,  happy  faces  of  the  school-children  were 
a  pleasure  to  see.  They  were  marching  across  the 
green  on  their  way  to  a  picnic.  One  youngster 
acted  as  drummer,  and  another  was  red  in  the 
face  with  trying  to  play  a  broken  flute.  Old 
Kate,  the  mare,  pricked  up  her  ears  and  was  in- 
clined to  shy.  Her  better  judgment  prevailed, 
however,  and  she  finally  trotted  down  the  street 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Upon  reaching  Parker's  store,  where  everything 
could  be  bought  from  an  ounce  of  mustard  seed  to 
a  mowing  machine,  the  proprietor  assisted  the 
ladies  to  alight  and  hitched  their  horse.  Mr. 
Parker  was  a  tall,  spare  man  with  red  hair,  blue 
eyes  and  a  fringe  of  sandy  whiskers  around  his 


62       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

face.  He  inquired  after  all  the  Old  Riverby  peo- 
ple from  Deacon  Munsej,  the  town  representative, 
to  Grandma  Stillman  who  lived  at  the  poor-farm. 
Then,  eying  Rachel  closely,  he  said : 

"  Who  is  this  slip  of  a  gal,  Mis'  Bradley?  One 
of  your  city  boarders  ?  " 

Thereupon  Mrs.  Bradley  introduced  Rachel  to 
him  and  told  him  that  it  was  her  first  visit  to  Old 
Riverby  and  that  she  was  charmed  with  the  place. 

"  I  suppose  she  knows  the  "  Duchess  "  by  this 
time?  " 

Without  waiting  for  her  friend  to  reply  Rachel 
said: 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  I  think  she  is  lovely !  " 

"Do,  do  you?  Wa'al  you  can  bate  you  ain't 
the  only  one  that  thinks  so.  The  '  Duchess ' 
wouldn't  be  a  widder  now  nor  Jake  Parker 
wouldn't  be  keepin'  old  bach's  hall  if  she'd  had 
eyes  for  anybody  but  that  tin-peddler,  Gray,  when 
she  was  a  gal." 

Mrs.  Bradley,  well  knowing  Mr.  Parker's  weak- 
ness on  that  point,  changed  the  subject  by  asking 
for  several  articles  which  she  wished  to  purchase. 
All  being  ready,  the  shoppers  returned  home  by 
way  of  the  river  road.  When  they  crossed  the 
bridge  and  turned  the  corner  at  the  church  the 
inn-keeper's  wife  said: 

"  Just  think  of  it !  A  whole  afternoon  without 
hearing  any  complaints  from  the  guests  about 
headaches,  heartaches  or  jealousies  of  one  another. 
Why,  it  has  given  me  a  new  lease  of  life !  " 


63 

Whether  old  Kate  understood  what  was  said  and 
became  imbued  with  the  same  spirit  of  hilarity  will 
never  be  known,  but  she  immediately  started  upon 
the  run.  In  spite  of  the  close  rein  held  over  her, 
she  veered  to  the  left,  the  forward  wheel  of  the 
carriage  caught  in  the  rear  wheel  of  a  buckboard 
which  stood  in  front  of  the  old  tavern,  and  Mrs. 
Bradley  and  Rachel  came  near  being  upset.  The 
mare  kept  right  on  at  the  same  pace,  however,  till 
they  turned  into  the  yard.  Then  the  wise  old 
creature  walked  leisurely  up  to  the  stable  door 
and  neighed  for  her  supper. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  RECLUSE 

As1  you  already  know,  it  was  the  summer  before 
Rachel  Winn  went  to  Old  Riverby  that  a  stranger 
took  up  his  abode  in  the  old  furnace.  It  was  of 
no  use  to  any  one  else,  so  his  right  to  remain 
there  was  not  questioned. 

Soon  after  Rachel's  arrival  she  wrote  home  a 
description  of  the  village  and  of  the  people  whom 
she  had  met.  She  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the 
recluse,  of  his  living  in  an  old  ruin  on  the  hillside, 
and  very  unwisely  said  that  she  hoped  to  make 
his  acquaintance.  The  return  mail  brought  her 
no  less  than  half  a  dozen  letters,  nearly  all  of 
which  charged  her  not  to  think  of  such  a  thing. 
In  the  tear-stained  one  from  her  mother  Rachel 
was  gently  reproved  for  having  a  morbid  curiosity 
about  unusual  characters.  Her  Aunt  Mintie,  who 
lived  in  the  family,  sent  a  long  missive  warning 
her  of  the  dangers  that  surrounded  a  young  girl 
even  in  a  country  village. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  the  spinster  wrote,  "  there  is 
many  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  in  these  days." 

The  last  letter  to  be  read  came  from  Rachel's 
nine  year  old  brother,  who  said  in  his  masterful 

way: 

64 


THE  RECLUSE  65 

"  Rachel,  don't  you  mind  what  mamma  and 
auntie  tell  you  about  not  going  to  see  the  boogy- 
man.  I  say  go  ahead.  Perhaps  he  was  once  a 
neighbor  to  Hannah  Dustin  and  can  tell  you  all 
about  killing  the  Injuns." 

The  anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  girl's  friends 
was  needless,  for  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  stranger.  He  rarely 
left  his  hermitage  by  day.  When  he  did  it  was 
only  to  stroll  over  the  hills  through  a  thickly 
wooded  forest.  There  he  found  young  squirrels 
and  rabbits,  which  he  brought  home.  Some  of  the 
villagers  looked  upon  the  taming  of  such  animals 
with  suspicion.  They  thought  that  by  the  pro- 
lific propagation  of  their  kind  the  neighboring 
gardens  would  be  overrun  with  them.  As  it 
turned  out,  their  fears  on  that  score  were  unneces- 
sary. 

One  night  in  the  latter  part  of  September  the 
old  ruin  was  reduced  to  ashes.  It  was  between 
twelve  and  one  o'clock  when  the  church  bell  gave 
the  alarm.  The  first  stroke  had  scarcely  ceased 
to  vibrate  before  every  man,  woman  and  child  in 
the  village  was  up  and  out.  When  they  saw  the 
structure  all  ablaze,  a  cry  arose: 

"  Save  the  hermit !  Save  the  hermit !  "  One 
after  another  said  to  his  neighbor: 

"  You  lead  and  I'll  follow." 

No  one  dared  take  the  initiative,  however. 
They  stood  appalled  before  the  fiery  crucible.  It 
required  a  stout  heart  to  enter  the  burning  build- 


ing  when  the  flames  like  a  thousand-headed  hydra 
licked  up  the  shingles  as  if  they  were  dried  parch- 
ment, and  when  with  each  falling  timber  livid 
tongues  of  fire  pierced  the  darkness.  Finally 
there  was  a  jostling  of  the  people  and  a  tall  figure, 
wrapped  in  a  long  loose  robe  with  a  hood  that 
concealed  the  features,  rushed  through  the  crowd 
and  on  into  the  very  face  of  death.  A  moment 
and  the  newcomer  brought  out  the  prostrate  form 
of  the  recluse.  The  heroic  deed  performed,  the 
figure  disappeared  as  mysteriously  as  it  came. 
Old  Uncle  Spencer,  whose  mind  was  somewhat 
turned  on  the  subject  of  religion,  took  the  un- 
known personage  to  be  an  angel.  Others  thought 
that  some  daring  adventurer's  name  would  be 
heralded  throughout  the  country  the  next  day. 

The  unfortunate  man  was  carried  across  the 
river  to  the  inn.  Upon  examination  by  Doctor 
Pendleton  it  was  found  that  life  was  not  extinct. 
Though  revived  by  stimulants,  the  man  fully 
realized  that  he  had  but  a  short  time  to  live.  Mo- 
tioning everyone  except  the  doctor  to  leave  the 
room,  he  said: 

"  Naturally,  my  life  of  seclusion  has  been  com- 
mented upon  by  the  villagers.  Doubtless  some  of 
them  have  thought  me  demented,  while  perhaps 
others  have  looked  upon  me  as  a  fugitive  from 
justice.  As  I  am  so  soon  to  pass  to  that  bourne 
whence  no  traveler  returns,  I  wish  these  good  peo- 
ple to  know  that  I  a  neither  a  lunatic  nor  a  crimi- 
nal." 


THE  RECLUSE  67 

"  In  the  contour  of  your  face  and  in  your  nat- 
ural bearing  I  have  seen  the  true  gentleman,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  There  can  be  no  question  but  blood 
tells." 

With  that  encouragement  the  dying  man  went 
on  to  say: 

"  Many  years  ago  Count  Bourdillon  came  to 
America  to  settle  his  uncle's  estate.  Much  of  the 
property  was  in  Washington.  While  there  he 
met  and  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Ruth  Wellington, 
daughter  of  Senator  Wellington.  Immediately 
after  the  count's  engagement  to  the  young  woman, 
urgent  business  necessitated  his  speedy  return  to 
France.  By  persuasion  on  the  part  of  her  lover 
the  girl  was  prevailed  upon  to  forego  the  pleasure 
of  a  large  wedding,  and  to  be  married  quietly  the 
day  before  sailing.  Two  years  later  an  heir  was 
born  to  the  couple.  I  am  that  son,  and  whether 
my  coming  brought  more  of  joy  than  sorrow  to 
my  mother's  homesick  heart  I  cannot  say. 

"  My  father  worshipped  his  beautiful  wife,  but 
his  religion  was  paramount  to  all  else.  I  have 
always  believed  that,  though  my  mother  united 
with  the  Catholic  church,  at  heart  she  remained 
a  Protestant.  She  was  heartbroken  when  I  was 
sent  away  to  study  for  the  priesthood.  Though 
still  young  I,  too,  had  my  doubts  as  to  whether  I 
loved  the  church  sufficiently  to  become  a  leader  of 
its  people." 

The  man  said  no  more,  and  like  the  last  flicker- 
ing blaze  of  a  candle  his  life  passed  out.  The 


68       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

leaves  of  a  much  worn  note-book  bearing  the  name 
of  Francois  Bourdillon  revealed  the  rest  of  the 
sad  story.  Doctor  Pendleton  translated  the  jour- 
nal, which  read  as  follows : 

"  Would  to  God  that  I  could  return  to  my  child- 
hood !  Again  to  walk  in  the  old  rose  garden,  hand  in 
hand  with  my  sainted  mother.  Again  to  hear  her 
gentle  voice  and  to  feel  the  touch  of  her  soft  lips  in 
a  good-night  kiss.  Ah !  Those  were  happy  days, 
but  I  knew  it  not.  I  see,  when  it  is  too  late,  that 
I  should  have  listened  to  the  voice  within  which  told 
me  that  I  was  unfit  for  the  priesthood.  I  now  real- 
ize that  it  was  pride  and  ambition  which  I  mistook 
for  religious  fervor  that  induced  me  to  carry  out  my 
father's  wishes.  The  goal  is  now  reached,  and  still 
my  restless  soul  is  unsatisfied.  I  think  of  a  broader 
life  by  day  and  dream  of  it  by  night.  Unless  I  can 
loose  the  fetters  that  bind  me  I  would  rather  die." 

The  next  entry  in  the  diary  dated  some  time 
later  consisted  of  long  prayers  for  deliverance 
from  illness  and  from  rough  seas  that  buffeted  the 
vessel  upon  which  he  came  to  America. 

Months  passed  before  anything  else  was  written. 
Meanwhile,  Cupid  must  have  sought  out  the 
stranger,  for  when  once  more  he  took  up  his  pen 
the  sketches  were  radiant  with  color.  The  sky 
was  no  longer  grey  and  threatening.  It  was 
draped  with  pearl-grey  and  old-rose,  with  violet 
and  pale  pink,  and  with  royal  purple  fringed  with 
gold.  Every  tree  and  shrub  whispered  of  love 


THE  RECLUSE  69 

to  the  lover;  their  leaves  took  on  a  more  tender 
green,  their  blossoms  perfumed  the  air  with  un- 
usual aroma,  and  the  birds  among  their  branches 
never  poured  forth  such  melody. 

"  The  sentiment  expressed  in  those  halcyon  days 
was  too  tender  to  repeat,"  said  Doctor  Pendleton. 
"  I  read  page  after  page  of  which  I  made  no 
translation.  There  are  some  things  too  sacred 
to  be  flaunted  before  the  eyes  of  a  cold,  critical 
world.  It  was  the  same  old  story  of  love's  young 
dream ;  what  need  to  tell  it  ?  " 

The  next  entry  made  three  years  later,  which 
told  of  the  death  of  the  hermit's  child  and  of  the 
mysterious  disappearance  of  his  beautiful  wife, 
brought  tears  to  the  good  old  doctor's  eyes. 
Upon  a  page  dated  September  twenty-eighth  was 
written : 

"  Something  tells  me  that  my  days  are  numbered. 
Since  time  has  robbed  me  of  all  that  made  life  worth 
living  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  If  with  all  my 
suffering  I  have  not  expiated  the  crime  of  failing  in 
my  vows  to  the  church,  further  judgment  from  the 
Almighty  cannot  come  too  soon.  Each  day  spent  in 
a  probationary  existence  will  bring  me  that  much 
nearer  the  haven  of  peace  where  I  hope  to  be  re- 
united with  those  I  love." 

Rachel  Winn  had  thus  far  carefully  guarded 
the  fqrtune  teller's  secret.  But,  well  knowing 
that  the  hermit's  rescuer  was  none  other  than  his 
faithful  wife,  she  felt  justified  in  telling  the  story 
to  Mrs.  Bradley.  She  thought: 


"  Who  knows  where  the  poor  creature  sought 
shelter  after  disappearing  from  the  crowd  last 
night?  Or  who  can  tell  but,  overcome  by 
fatigue,  she  may  have  died  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bradley  scarcely  waited  to  hear  the  last 
of  the  sad  tale.  She  hurried  downstairs  and  out 
into  the  garden  to  find  her  husband.  Within  half 
an  hour  the  inn-keeper  and  his  wife  and  Rachel 
Winn  were  on  their  way  to  the  home  of  "  dark 
Marjory."  Old  Kate  started  off  at  a  brisk  trot, 
as  if  she  knew  that  she  was  on  some  errand  of 
mercy.  The  long  shadows  and  the  purpling 
mountains  already  foretold  the  coming  of  night, 
and  the  mournful  song  of  a  whip-poor-will  came 
across  the  meadows.  Upon  reaching  the  hovel 
and  finding  the  door  and  windows  closed,  Mr. 
Bradley  said: 

"  Since  the  place  has  been  vacated,  there  can 
be  no  harm  in  entering." 

When  he  opened  the  rickety  door  and  found 
no  one  in  the  kitchen,  he  passed  on  to  the  bedroom. 
There,  upon  an  old  couch  covered  with  a  fine 
linen  sheet,  lay  the  lifeless  form  of  the  woman  whom 
they  sought.  The  visitors  stood  amazed.  That 
inexplicable  influence  felt  in  the  presence  of  death 
rendered  them  speechless.  Mrs.  Bradley  was  the 
first  to  break  the  silence.  She  said: 

"  Think  of  it,  John !  This  poor  creature  has 
actually  died  here  alone  under  the  very  eaves  of 
our  village,  and  we  pretend  to  be  Christian  peo- 
ple !  "  She  took  a  step  forward  and  hesitated,  as 


THE  RECLUSE  71 

if  afraid  that  the  lifeless  corpse  might  rise  up 
and  denounce  her.  Upon  removing  the  dainty 
handkerchief  with  which  the  face  was  covered,  she 
was  surprised  that  the  features,  distorted  in 
life,  were  so  beautiful  in  the  repose  of  death. 
The  luxuriant  hair,  formerly  disheveled,  lay  in 
smoothly  plaited  braids  about  the  low  broad 
forehead.  The  burial  robe  was  the  wedding  dress 
which  the  woman  had  shown  to  Rachel  Winn  only 
a  few  weeks  before.  A  plain  gold  ring  encircled 
the  third  finger  of  the  left  hand,  and  a  rosary  with 
a  gold  cross  attached  to  it  was  suspended  from 
her  neck. 

Mr.  Bradley  picked  a  scrap  of  paper  from  the 
floor,  and  reading  the  inscription  upon  it,  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Poison ! "  Then  he  went  on  to  say : 
"  Doubtless  the  shock  of  again  seeing  her  husband 
restored  the  woman's  reason.  Rather  than  live 
without  him  she  has  taken  her  own  life." 

The  question  arose,  what  should  be  done?  It 
was  already  dusk  and  neither  Rachel  nor  Mrs. 
Bradley  would  remain  there  alone.  It  was  finally 
decided  that  Rachel  should  drive  down  to  the  vil- 
lage and  carry  the  sad  news.  In  less  time  than  it 
takes  for  the  telling,  Doctor  Pendleton  and  Mr. 
Glines,  the  undertaker,  were  on  their  way  to 
the  desolate  home.  The  lone  woman  was  carried 
to  the  inn,  where  the  following  day  funeral  serv- 
ices were  held  for  her  and  her  husband,  and  they 
were  buried  side  by  side  in  the  Bradley  family 


72       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

lot.  The  tragic  ending  of  the  two  unhappy  lives 
made  a  deep  impression  on  the  villagers.  To  this 
day  children  speak  in  whispers  as  they  strew  the 
unmarked  graves  with  wild  flowers. 

News  of  the  conflagration  spread  rapidly. 
Many  came  from  adjoining  towns  to  see  the 
smouldering  ruins.  Others,  out  of  morbid  curi- 
osity, came  to  view  the  newly  made  graves  and  to 
hear  what  they  could  about  the  fated  couple. 
Day  after  day  groups  of  old  men,  each  leaning 
upon  his  staff,  together  with  young  men  and  their 
sweethearts,  wandered  about  the  hillside  and  gave 
their  opinion  as  to  how  the  fire  started,  and  as  to 
whether  it  was  from  the  flames  or  from  smoke  that 
the  hermit  lost  his  life. 

The  day  before  the  burning  of  the  old  furnace 
is  still  remembered  by  many  of  the  town's  people. 
It  was  dull  in  the  morning,  and  the  three  artists 
who  had  just  come  to  the  inn  hesitated  about  go- 
ing out  sketching.  It  cleared  toward  noon,  how- 
ever, and  they  took  their  art  materials,  their 
white  umbrellas  and  a  box  of  lunch,  and  started. 
Toward  night,  with  the  sun  swinging  low  in  the 
west,  a  golden  mist  permeated  the  atmosphere  and 
tinged  the  moutain  peaks  with  unusual  splendor. 
The  perfect  stillness,  which  seemed  to  portend 
some  coming  evil,  was  broken  only  by  the  bleat- 
ing of  a  young  lamb  in  the  pasture  across  the 
river. 

The  artists  returned  just  at  twilight,  each 
bringing  a  sketch  of  some  picturesque  spot.  The 


THE  RECLUSE  73 

"  ohs  "  and  "  ahs  "  from  the  guests  about  the 
delicate  coloring  were  lost  on  the  hungry  trio. 
Having  had  only  a  light  lunch  since  morning,  the 
delicious  supper  claimed  their  undivided  attention. 
It  was  not  till  all  were  gathered  around  the 
wood  fire  in  the  parlor  that  the  tongues  of  the 
three  were  loosed.  Then  the  halls  fairly  rang 
with  laughter  at  their  jokes.  Each  one  may  have 
had  his  share  of  peculiarities  accorded  to  men  of 
genius.  In  any  case,  they  were  indeed  a  jovial 
company.  Strangely  enough,  not  long  ago,  one 
who  was  then  a  guest  of  the  inn,  came  across  a 
pencil  sketch  which  was  drawn  that  evening  by 
one  of  the  merrymakers.  He  has  since  become  a 
famous  artist,  therefore,  it  would  never  do  to  men- 
tion his  name. 


CHAPTER  IX 
PATRICK  SPELLMAN 

Without  some  mention  of  the  carriage  driver 
who  took  the  guests  of  the  inn  to  the  mountains 
time  and  again,  and  who  amused  them  with  his 
droll  sayings,  the  chronicles  of  Old  Riverby  would 
be  incomplete.  A  typical  son  of  Erin  was  Pat- 
rick Spellman,  with  a  heart  full  of  love  for  his 
neighbors,  for  his  Mary  Ann,  and  for  his  brood 
of  fair-haired  children  that  looked  as  much  alike 
as  so  many  peas  in  a  pod.  A  twinkle  in  his  mild 
blue  eye  suggested  joviality,  and  his  head  was  as 
full  of  yarns  as  an  old  reel.  But  withal,  if  the 
truth  may  be  told,  Pat  was  in  the  habit  of  tip- 
pling. 

The  Spellmans  lived  in  a  log  house  about  half- 
way between  Old  Riverby  and  Barton.  Mrs. 
Bradley  never  went  that  way  without  calling  to 
see  how  the  wife  and  chilrden  were  getting  along, 
and  the  best  of  it  was  she  never  went  empty-handed. 
Either  apples  or  seedcakes  for  the  little  ones  al- 
ways found  place  in  her  capacious  hand  bag.  And 
she  never  forgot  to  take  a  package  of  her  delicious 
green  tea  to  the  hard-working  mother. 

Rachel  Winn  chanced  to  be  with  the  inn-keeper's 

wife  one   day  when  she   called  upon   the  driver's 

74 


PATRICK  SPELLMAN  75 

family.  The  children,  well  knowing  that  some 
treat  was  in  store  for  them,  flocked  around  the 
good  woman  like  so  many  chickens  around  their 
breakfast.  They  followed  her  into  the  house,  and 
having  been  told  that  they  were  as  shy  as  par- 
tridges, Rachel  didn't  expect  to  see  them  again. 
But  while  she  sat  there  in  the  carriage  they  came 
out,  one  after  another. 

To  the  great  disappointment  of  the  Spellmans, 
their  children  were  all  boys.  When  the  fourth 
one,  a  delicate,  effeminate  little  fellow  came,  word 
went  out  that  it  was  a  girl.  They  named  him 
Mikanna,  and  kept  him  in  dresses  a  number  of 
years  after  he  should  have  been  in  trousers. 
Though  the  child  was  nine  years  of  age  when 
Rachel  first  saw  him,  he  was  still  in  petticoats,  and 
wore  his  hair  in  a  braid  down  his  back.  Whether 
he  knew  instinctively  that  he  was  unsuitably  clad 
would  be  hard  to  say;  however,  he  concealed  him- 
self behind  a  large  pine  at  the  corner  of  the  house 
and,  like  a  squirrel,  took  occasional  peeps  at  the 
stranger. 

Mrs.  Spellman  followed  Mrs.  Bradley  out  to  the 
carriage  and  in  her  inimitable  way  expressed  her 
gratitude  for  the  timely  contribution.  The  joy 
of  her  Irish  soul  lighted  her  countenance  as  she 
said: 

"  Shure,  mum,  it's  the  loikes  av  yersilf  that 
makes  loif  wort'  livin'." 

"  I  dont  know  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bradley. 

"  Oh,  go  way  wid  yer  blarney !  "  exclaimed  the 


woman.  "  Ye  know  it's  the  trut'  Oi'm  tellin'  yees. 
And  phat's  that  Oi  hurud  about  yer  good  man? 
God  bliss  *im!  Pat  tells  me  he  have  been  apinted 
prisident  av  the  timperence  saciety." 

"  Mr.  Bradley  has  been  elected  representative  of 
the  town,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  And  I  am  sure 
that  he  will  do  all  in  his  power  to  prevent  liquor 
being  sold.  There  are  already  too  many  families 
in  poverty  on  account  of  men  drinking  up  their 
earnings.  Even  Pat,  as  good  as  he  is,  would  be 
better  off  without  his  toddy." 

In  spite  of  Mrs.  Bradley's  kindness  and  gen- 
erosity, the  wife  objected  to  hearing  her  spouse 
criticised.  The  expression  of  pleasure  and  the 
deferential  manner  of  the  woman  instantly  changed, 
and  she  said,  with  considerable  emphasis : 

"  Niver  a  wourd  will  Oi  hear  about  Pat  Spellman ! 
Shure  the  Holy  Mother  knows  Oi  tuck  him  for 
bither  or  wourse,  and  dthrink  or  no  dthrink,  he's 
an  hanast  man.  And  tha's  more'n  can  be  said 
av  many  a  progidunt  phat  Oi've  seen  dronin'  round 
wid  a  face  an  as  lang  as  yer  arum  and  at  the 
same  toime  hatchin'  up  some  boggle  to  chate  his 
neighbors  out  av  their  oie-taath." 

When  well  out  of  hearing  Mrs.  Bradley  said: 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  mentioned  Pat's  weakness 
to  Mary  Ann.  Though  she  upbraids  him  unmerci- 
fully herself,  she  seriously  objects  to  having  any 
allusion  to  his  failings  made  by  others.  If  I  do 
say  it,  I  think  he  would  be  different  if  he  had  a 

»/  * 

more  gentle  companion.     You  must  have  seen,  Miss 


PATRICK  SPELLMAN  77 

Winn,  that  he  is  very  kind-hearted,  and  his  good 
humor  will  cure  a  case  of  blues  sooner  than  any 
other  known  remedy." 

Rachel  quite  agreed  with  her.  Many  a  time 
when  the  girl  was  on  the  point  of  crying  with  home- 
sickness Pat's  original  sayings  dispelled  her  gloom 
and  brought  forth  peals  of  laughter  from  her.  It 
was  no  unusual  thing  to  see  the  driver  on  the 
veranda  spinning  his  yarns  while  waiting  for  the 
mail  coach,  or  perhaps  to  do  some  little  chore  for 
the  busy  landlady.  One  night  a  pompous  young 
man,  a  late  arrival,  thinking  to  be  very  patronizing, 
said  to  him: 

"  I  take  it  that  you  came  from  the  old  coun- 
try." 

"  Faith,  it  was  in  Ireland  that  Oi  was  bornd," 
said  Pat.  "  But  Oi  could  'av  been  bornd  in 
Ameriky  just  as  well." 

"  How  was  that?  "  queried  the  guest. 

"  Oh,  that's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  yer  face, 
but  we  furiners  have  a  few  sacrets  phat  wa  ain't 
wearin'  on  our  schlaves." 

Without  further  comment  the  upstart  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  sauntered  down 
the  road. 

When  Mr.  Bradley  asked  Pat  how  much  Lawyer 
Ripley  paid  him  for  gathering  his  apples,  his  re- 
ply was : 

"  Faix,  Oi  don't  remimber  just  how  much  it 
was,  but  phativer  he  paid  me  he  chated  me  out 
av." 


78      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

With  Mrs.  Spellraan's  nervous  temperament,  it 
was  not  strange  that  she  was  subject  to  attacks 
of  hysteria.  Doctor  Pendleton  was  frequently 
called  upon  such  occasions.  One  time  when  he 
arrived  at  the  unkempt  home  he  found  Pat  nearly 
as  badly  off  as  his  wife.  He  was  in  a  frenzy  of 
fear  lest  she  was  going  mad.  As  the  woman  went 
on  crying  and  laughing  alternately,  he  exclaimed: 

"  For  the  love  av  the  saints,  Mary  Ann,  will  ye 
niver  come  to  yer  sinces?  Shure,  ye  act  the  most 
loike  a  fool  Oi  iver  seen  yees !  "  When  told  by  the 
physician  that  the  woman's  illness  was  largely  due 
to  imagination,  Pat  said:  "Holy  Mither!  If 
that's  phat  ye  call  it,  thin  bad  scrans  to  Mag 
Nasons !  " 

While  driving  along  the  brink  of  Glen  River 
one  day,  a  gentleman  in  the  party  asked  Pat  if 
he  ever  fished  on  that  stream. 

"  Shure  Oi  have  that,  yer  honor,  and  aizy  fishin' 
indade  it  was,  wid  niver  a  bite  barin'  wan  from 
a  muskater  that  tuck  the  top  av  me  ear  clean  aff 
at  the  first  lick." 

The  passengers,  except  a  lone  spinster  who  had 
a  horror  of  spiders,  bugs  and  bumblebees,  smiled 
audibly.  She  shivered  and  drew  her  veil  closer 
about  her  face.  The  others  had  heard  too  many 
of  Pat's  yarns  to  accept  them  without  a  grain  of 
seasoning.  Mention  of  the  noisome  insects  re- 
minded him  of  an  unpleasant  experience  which 
he  once  had  while  guiding  a  Boston  naturalist 
through  the  mountains,  and  he  said: 


PATRICK  SPELLMAN  79 

"  Talk  about  muskaters !  These  around  here 
ain't  to  be  schpoken  av  in  the  same  day  wid  the 
wans  an  Sout'  Mountain !  "  He  then  proceeded 
to  give  a  detailed  account  of  his  wanderings 
through  the  woods,  of  getting  lost,  and  of  spend- 
ing the  night  beneath  an  old  caldron  kettle  that 
had  been  left  by  sugar  makers.  "  Yis,"  said  the 
story-teller,  "  the  perfisser  shuck  loike  an  aspect 
leaf  whin  he  hurud  the  noisy  cratures  pipin'  up 
wid  their  evenin'  chunes.  The  first  wan  was  no 
more  than  complated  whin  he  stoirted  wid  a  con- 
fission.  Shure,  Oi  told  'im  Oi  was  no  prast 
phativer,  but  he  kipt  roight  an  wid  his  blarney. 
Since  this  company  have  no  acquaintance  wid  the 
gintleman  there  can  be  no  harum  in  sayin'  that 
among  ather  things  too  indacent  to  repate  he  con- 
fissed  to  sthalin  a  quarter  out  av  his  ould  grand- 
mother's sthockin'!  Whin  he  rached  that  pint 
the  bill  av  the  largest  varmint  av  the  lat  come 
trough  the  old  kittle  and  stuck  straight  into  his 
back.  Holy  Mither !  Phat  a  howl  wint  up !  Oi 
suppose  he  fought  it  was  the  ghost  av  the  old 
lady  afther  him  wid  a  rid-hot  poker." 

"  You  must  have  been  at  your  wits'  end  to 
know  what  to  do,"  said  Doctor  Manser,  who  al- 
ways sat  with  the  driver. 

"  Faix,"  said  Pat,  "  Oi  paid  little  attintion  to 
the  ind  av  me  wits,  but  belave  me,  the  inds  av 
thim  blatherin'  bills  was  headed  down  an  the  in- 
soide  av  that  ould  caldron  in  less  toime  than  it 
takes  to  tell  about  it." 


80       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  I  suppose  you  had  no  further  trouble,"  com- 
mented the  doctor. 

"  Roight  ye  are,  soir.  It  was  just  at  the  break 
o'  day  whin  Oi  hurud  a  flutterin'  av  wings. 
Thinkin'  it  was  a  flock  av  wild  geese  goin'  sout', 
Oi  turned  over  and  wint  to  schlape.  And  would 
ye  belave  me,  before  Oi  waked  up  thim  muskaters 
flew  aff  and  tuck  the  ould  kittle  wid  'em."  There 
was  no  time  for  comment  for,  turning  to  the  doc- 
tor, Pat  said :  "  Ye  orter  been  wid  me  wan  day 
last  season  whin  Oi  fished  up  Pike  Stream." 

"Why  so?  "  queried  the  doctor. 

"  Ye'd  av  seen  a  soight  the  likes  av  phat  ye 
wouldn't  lay  yer  eyes  an  ag*in  in  a  loife-time." 

"  Since  that  was  the  case,  you  had  better  tell 
us  about  it.  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  That's  precoisely  the  quistion  Oi  axed  mesilf. 
Thin  Oi  said,  says  Oi,  '  Pat  Spellman,  don't  ye  be 
afther  lavin'  these  diggin'  widout  makin'  yersilf 
wise  to  that  onnatural  thing.'  So  Oi  relaved  me- 
silf av  the  most  av  me  clo'es  and  climbed  up  the 
bare  face  av  a  lidge.  And  phat  should  Oi  find 
but  a  woodchuck's  hole  ten  feet  long  stickin' 
straight  out  av  the  bank." 

The  truth  of  Pat's  statement  was  not  ques- 
tioned, for  at  that  moment  a  man  with  a  hand 
organ  and  monkey  came  out  from  a  thicket  beside 
the  road.  The  horses  were  inclined  to  shy,  but 
Pat  stopped  long  enough  to  hear  "  The  Wearing 
of  the  Green  "  played,  and  to  see  the  wise  little 
creature  perform  some  of  his  antics.  It  is  doubt- 


PATRICK  SPELLMAN  81 

ful  if  the  Hibernian  ever  saw  a  monkey  before. 
In  any  case,  he  winked  at  the  doctor  and  said : 

"  If  that  ain't  wan  av  the  O'Houligan  b'ys 
from  Cork,  thin  Oi'll  eat  me  head." 

Poor  Pat!  It  was  only  the  next  day  that  he 
came  to  grief.  After  imbibing  too  freely  with 
friends  that  he  met  in  Barton,  he  lost  control  of 
his  horses  and  they  ran  away  with  him.  His 
right  leg  was  so  seriously  injured  that  amputa- 
tion was  necessary.  In  spite  of  his  failings,  every- 
body was  fond  of  Pat,  and  without  the  least  hesi- 
tancy the  villagers  turned  to  and  cared  for  him 
and  his  family.  Be  it  said  to  his  credit,  however, 
he  signed  the  pledge  two  days  after  the  accident, 
and  never  tasted  liquor  again.  The  erstwhile 
erratic  Mary  Ann  became  as  gentle  toward  him 
as  need  be.  The  neighbors  declared  that  she  was 
prouder  of  him  hobbling  around  on  an  old  wooden 
stump  than  she  ever  was  before.  She  said  to 
Grandma  Bradley: 

"  Oi  find  that  it's  not  laigs  altogither  phat 
makes  a  man.  Wid  the  wan  left  Pat  is  more  av  a 
gintleman  than  he  was  wid  the  two  av  'em.  Shure, 
if  he  should  lose  the  ather  wan  Oi  don't  know  but 
he'd  be  fit  for  prisidint  av  the  United  States." 

Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  the  accident  proved 
the  beginning  of  the  man's  prosperity.  The 
climax  of  his  good  fortune  came  when  through 
the  death  of  an  uncle  he  was  left  a  goodly  sum  of 
ready  money. 

"  Why,"  said  Grandma  Bradley  in  telling  about 


it  five  years  later,  "  the  whole  townspeople  were 
as  pleased  with  Pat's  good  luck  as  if  it  had  been 
their  own." 

The  happiness  of  the  household  was  completed, 
however,  by  an  old  stork  that  had  been  nesting 
among  the  spokes  of  Dame  Fortune's  wheel  for 
nobody  knows  how  long.  One  night  it  came  down 
from  its  perch  and  left  a  beautiful  girl  baby  for 
Pat  and  his  Mary  Ann. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  MINER'S  STORY 

One  evening  during  a  September  gale,  Miss 
Dinsmore,  a  guest  at  the  inn,  proposed  having 
a  fagot  party.  Mr.  Pelton,  the  village  school- 
master, remarked: 

"  I  wonder  what  kind  of  a  party  that  is !  " 

Miss  Dinsmore  made  no  explanation,  but  when 
a  bundle  of  twigs  was  brought  from  the  wood-shed 
she  distributed  them  among  the  guests  who  sat 
around  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  said: 

"  You  must  each,  in  turn,  cast  your  twig  into 
the  flames,  and  while  it  is  being  consumed  either 
repeat  a  poem,  sing  a  song,  or  tell  a  story." 

Paul  Sibley  from  Chicago  was  the  first  to  re- 
plenish the  fire,  after  which  he  rose,  strode  into 
the  parlor,  and  struck  two  or  three  chords  at 
random  on  the  piano.  Rachel  Winn  said: 

"  Perhaps   he   will   give   us   '  Captain   Jinks.' ' 
Miss  Gilman  who  sat  next  to  her  remarked: 

"  I  hope  he  will  sing  '  Pins  and  Needles  by  the 
Dozen.'  " 

They  were  both  widely  off  the  mark.  In  his 
despondency  at  the  thought  of  leaving  Dorothy 
Quimby,  the  minister's  daughter,  with  whom  he 

had  fallen  desperately  in  love,  he  was  not  in  a 

83 


mood  for  comic  songs.  And  his  rich  tenor  voice 
resounded  through  the  halls  in  "  Maid  of 
Athens." 

Though  the  gentleman  present  made  no  com- 
ment, they  exchanged  knowing  glances  and  a 
smile  went  round. 

Grandma  Bradley  was  the  next  to  contribute 
her  fagot  to  the  fire.  They  all  wondered  whether 
she  would  repeat  a  hymn,  or  some  passage  of 
Scripture.  To  their  surprise  she  sang,  in  a  low, 
sweet  voice: 

"  Roll  on,  silver  moon,  guide  the  traveler  his  way 
While  the  nightingale's  song  is  in  tune, 
For  I  never,  never  more  with  my  true  love  shall  stray 
In  the  sweet  silver  light  of  the  moon." 

An  elderly  lady  from  Dixville,  who  was  visiting 
the  family,  quoted: 

"  He  liveth  long  who  liveth  well, 
All  else  is  life  but  flung  away. 
He  liveth  longest  who  can  tell 
Of  some  true  thing  truly  done  each  day." 

Miss  Oilman  gave  Hannah  Moore's  lines : 

"  Alone   I   walked  upon  the  strand, 
A  pearly  shell  was  in  my  hand  " 

As  burning  of  fagots  was  part  of  the  program, 
Rachel  Winn  thought  something  from  the  "  Fire 
Worshipers  "  would  be  apropos  to  the  occasion. 
So  while  her  branch  was  crackling  in  the  flames 
she  repeated: 


THE  MINER'S  STORY  85 

'  'Tis  moonlight  over  Oman's  sea ; 

Her  banks  of  pearl  and  palmy  isles 
Bask  in  the  night-beams  beauteously, 
And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles." 

Mr.  Cameron,  Grandma  Bradley's  son-in-law 
from  Denver,  sat  near  Rachel,  and  was  the  next 
to  contribute  to  the  flames,  but  he  begged  to  be 
excused  from  giving  a  recitation. 

"  Indeed,  we  cannot  excuse  you,"  said  Miss 
Dinsmore.  "  You,  too,  must  contribute  to  the 
cluster  of  gems." 

The  inn-keeper  came  in  at  that  moment  and 
declared  that  one  of  Mr.  Cameron's  mining  stories 
would  be  in  keeping  with  the  wild  night.  Seeing 
that  by  no  manner  of  means  would  the  company 
be  put  off,  Mr.  Cameron  began  by  saying: 

"  Four  years'  service  in  the  Civil  War  inspired 
me  with  a  desire  for  further  adventure,  and  there 
seemed  no  better  place  to  find  it  than  out  in  the 
gold  fields  of  California.  I  thought  I  had  seen 
all  kinds  of  men,  but  when  I  came  in  contact  with 
those  miners  I  found  that  I  was  mistaken.  There 
was  still  another  type. 

"  My  first  venture  was  made  at  Hang  Town, 
Dead  Man's  Canyon.  I  took  up  an  old  claim  and 
did  very  well  till  the  drought  came  on.  The 
mines  through  that  section  depend  upon  the  rain 
for  water.  If  we  had  a  rainy  winter  they  could 
be  worked  seven  or  eight  months ;  if  not,  they  were 
useless. 


86      CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  The  first  real  desperado  that  I  fell  in  with 
was  Jim  Snow,  a  half-breed,  He  was  a  good 
banjo-player,  a  fine  singer,  an  expert  at  cards 
and  altogether  a  hail-fellow-well-met.  I  became 
acquainted  with  him  on  the  coach  going  over  the 
mountains  from  Hang  Town  to  Shingle  Springs. 
That  was  a  station  at  the  end  of  a  branch  road 
running  out  from  Sacramento  into  the  pine  coun- 
try. He  told  a  pathetic  tale  about  his  wife  be- 
ing ill  in  Mexico,  and  that  he  had  no  money  to 
pay  his  fare  home.  I,  like  some  unsophisticated 
youth,  was  all  sympathy  and  bought  his  ticket  to 
San  Francisco,  and  intended  to  pay  his  fare  to 
Mexico.  And  thereby  hangs  a  tale : — 

"  When  Shingle  Springs  was  reached  an  officer 
stepped  up  to  me,  and  asked  to  see  me  alone. 
Once  by  ourselves,  he  said: 

"  *  Are  you  aware  of  whom  you  have  for  a 
companion  ?  ' 

" '  To  be  sure,'  I  replied.  '  His  name  is 
Snow.' 

"  *  He  is  a  stage-robber,'  declared  the  officer. 
*  And  I  suspect  that  he  robbed  the  sluicers  at 
Pizaro's  place  two  weeks  ago ! ' 

"  Thereupon  he  took  the  man  in  hand  and 
searched  his  valise.  Finding  nothing  that  would 
lead  to  suspicion,  he  set  him  free.  Seeing  that 
the  suave  gentleman  paled  under  the  scrutinizing 
gaze  of  the  officer,  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  put 
a  bundle  into  my  trunk  that  morning.  I  mentioned 
the  fact  to  the  servant  of  the  law,  and  he  lost  no 


THE  MINER'S  STORY  87 

time  in  examining  its  contents.  You  can  scarcely 
imagine  my  feelings  when  it  was  found  that  the 
package  contained  between  seven  and  eight  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  gold  dust.  Snow  scented 
mischief,  and  disappeared  into  the  forest.  I  was 
so  vexed  with  having  been  duped  by  the  rascal 
that  I  put  my  trunk  into  a  miner's  cabin  and  with 
the  officer  and  two  other  men  started  in  pursuit 
of  him.  After  two  days'  unsuccessful  search  we 
returned,  and  I  never  saw  the  desperado  again  till 
the  last  of  February,  '71,  about  a  month  before 
Chris  Lopez,  the  noted  bandit,  was  shot." 

The  guests  of  the  inn  listened  with  breathless 
interest  as  Mr.  Cameron  went  on  to  say : 

"  It  was  in  the  fall  of  '70  that  I  went  into  the 
San  Gabriel  Canyon.  Thirty-two  men  accom- 
panied me,  of  whom  fourteen  were  Spaniards, 
seven  were  Chinese  and  the  rest  were  nearly  all 
Americans  of  the  hardest  type.  Among  them 
were  Tom  Burns,  Bogus  Smith,  Bill  Dooley,  Sam 
Hickman,  and  French  Joe  who,  with  a  pretty  girl 
and  her  child,  took  up  his  abode  in  an  old  shack 
just  across  the  river  from  our  cabin."  In 
describing  some  of  those  men  Mr.  Cameron  said: 
"  Burns  was  of  medium  height  with  no  surplus 
flesh.  His  hair,  coal-black,  was  as  straight  as 
that  of  an  Indian.  His  piercing  black  eyes,  sunk 
deeply  into  their  sockets,  resembled  bits  of  ebony 
in  a  bronze  setting,  while  two  of  his  front  teeth 
were  conspicuous  for  their  absence.  Bogus 
Smith  was  tall,  well  proportioned,  and  had  the 


strength  of  a  Hercules.  His  coarse,  red-brown 
hair  fell  in  abundance  over  his  forehead.  His 
eyes  were  steel-grey,  and  his  mouth,  somewhat 
small,  enclosed  a  set  of  teeth  that  were  perfect 
except  for  discoloration  from  excessive  use  of 
tobacco."  Mr.  Cameron  hesitated  and  turning 
to  Grandma  Bradley  said:  "I  am  afraid  that  I 
shall  shock  the  young  ladies  if  I  go  on  with  this 
story." 

"  Nonsense,  Nathan,"  she  replied.  "  Instead 
of  shocking  them  it  will  broaden  their  sympathies 
to  hear  something  of  the  lives  of  those  less 
fortunate  than  themselves." 

Taking  up  the  thread  of  his  story  Mr.  Cam- 
eron went  on,  saying: 

"  Burns  was  wanted  for  murder  committed 
while  robbing  a  man  at  Los  Gadus.  Although 
he  evaded  punishment  by  law,  justice  was  meted 
out  to  him  at  the  hands  of  Bogus  Smith  who  in  a 
fit  of  anger  struck  him  down  about  a  month  after 
we  went  into  camp." 

Miss    Gilman    gave     a    start    and    exclaimed: 

"  What,  did  that  Mr.  Smith  really  kill  him?  " 

"  Certainly,  a  man's  life  doesn't  count  for  much 
with  such  characters. 

"  Apropos  to  Chris  Lopez,"  said  the  story-teller, 
"  it  was  about  twelve  o'clock  one  night  that  we 
were  aroused  by  tramping  of  horses  and  rattling 
of  spurs.  I  looked  out  and  saw  that  the  cabin  was 
surrounded  by  a  posse  of  bandits.  Upon  open- 
ing the  door  Joe  Vasquez,  their  leader,  and  Lopez, 


THE  MINER'S  STORY  89 

his  lieutenant,  walked  in.  Vasquez  asked  if  I 
were  in  charge.  When  told  that  I  was,  he  drew 
his  revolver  and  said: 

"  '  We  want  something  to  eat  and  we  want  it 
damned  quick ! ' 

"  It  goes  without  saying  that  I  made  no  delay 
in  calling  the  chef.  He  rehearsed  a  few  oaths 
about  getting  up  at  that  hour  to  feed  the  sons-of- 
sea-cooks.  Upon  hearing  a  revolver  drop,  Vas- 
quez turned  to  me  and  said: 

"  '  Sir,  I  shall  hold  you  responsible  if  any  trou- 
ble occurs.  We've  come  here  for  grub,  and  we're 
going  to  have  it.' 

"  I  opened  the  door  of  the  sleeping-room,"  said 
the  narrator,  "  and  found  the  men  up  and  armed 
with  their  repeaters.  Upon  being  told  who  our 
uninvited  guests  were,  they  quietly  crept  back  into 
their  bunks.  The  hot  lunch  finally  ready,  it 
was  found  that  there  was  only  room  for  half  of 
the  party  to  eat  at  one  time.  When  they  were 
through  the  others  came  in.  Who  should  be 
among  them  but  the  notorious  Jim  Snow.  He 
said  to  me: 

" '  I've  seen  you  before.'  Then,  turning  to 
his  companions,  he  made  some  remark  in  Spanish. 
Calling  me  to  the  rear  of  the  cabin  he  said,  in  an 
undertone :  '  Now,  pard,  if  you  will  come  with  us 
you  needn't  want  for  money.  We're  going  to  re- 
tire within  four  or  five  months.  We  robbed  the 
stores  at  Trespass  last  week,  and  to-night  we  shall 


90       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

do  up  Gospel  Swamp.'  Then  he  said,  '  You  must 
have  considerable  gold  dust  on  hand.' 

"  *  We  haven't  cleaned  up  for  over  two  weeks,' 
I  replied,  '  and  lately  our  clean-ups  have  been 
small.' 

"  *  That's  an  old  story,'  said  Snow.  '  Only  a 
tenderfoot  would  expect  me  to  be  caught  by  such 
chaff.'  He  then  informed  me  that  one  of  my  men 
kept  him  posted  regarding  matters  in  our  camp. 
By  that  time  the  others  were  ready  to  proceed 
on  their  errand  of  plunder,  and  calling  to  him, 
they  rode  away." 

Drawing  her  chair  closer  to  Mr.  Cameron's, 
Grandma  Bradley  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  what  dreadful  creatures !  And  to  think, 
Nathan,  that  you  were  at  their  mercy." 

Without  seeming  to  hear  her  he  continued,  say- 
ing: 

"  They  couldn't  have  gone  more  than  ten  rods 
before  my  men  were  up  and  down  the  trail  after 
them.  I  soon  heard  firing  and  the  crashing  of 
boulders.  The  men  came  in  about  daybreak  and 
said  that  they  fired  at  the  villains  while  they  were 
crossing  the  river  about  three  miles  below  the 
North  Fork.  I  didn't  put  much  stock  in  their 
story,  but  from  what  a  miner  told  me  who  came 
in  two  days  later,  there  was  no  doubt  but  some  of 
the  bandits  were  disabled  by  the  onslaught. 

"  After  that  the  men  settled  down  to  work  and 
everything  was,  apparently,  all  right.  Still,  I 
kept  wondering  who  was  playing  the  Judas.  I 


THE  MINER'S  STORY  91 

was  in  company  with  John  McKay  at  that  time. 
We  were  suspicious  that  the  bedrock  of  our 
sluicers  had  been  removed  and  the  tracks  of  the 
thief  had  been  covered  by  letting  on  a  stream  of 
water.  One  night  after  supper  I  told  McKay 
that  we  should  have  a  big  clean-up  in  the  morning, 
and  that  if  he  would  take  the  watch  at  the  head 
of  the  sluicer  till  twelve  o'clock  I  would  relieve 
him  then. 

"  The  moon  was  bright,  so  I  didn't  light  up," 
said  the  story-teller.  "  About  half  past  eleven 
some  one  peeped  in  at  the  window.  I  looked  out 
and  who  should  be  hurrying  down  the  canyon  but 
French  Joe.  I  took  my  rifle,  stole  out  of  the 
cabin,  went  up  near  the  sluicer  and  met  McKay. 
We  had  scarcely  concealed  ourselves  behind  a 
clump  of  bushes  when  we  heard  a  low  whistle.  It 
was  immediately  answered  by  some  one  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river.  French  Joe  told  his  ac- 
complice to  turn  on  two  or  three  inches  of  water. 
"  '  By  the  time  it  gets  down  here,*  said  he,  *  I'll 
be  through.' 

"  We  let  him  get  to  work.  After  he  had  filled 
his  gold  pan  and  replaced  the  bedrock,  McKay 
took  aim  and  fired.  We  saw  him  drop  and  waited 
for  the  other  man  to  make  his  appearance.  He 
evidently  scented  powder,  and  sought  shelter 
among  the  boulders.  The  next  morning  found 
every  man  at  his  work  except  French  Joe.  We 
sent  over  to  find  why  he  didn't  come;  the  man 
brought  back  word  that  he  had  met  with  an  acci- 


92       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

dent  and  wouldn't  be  around  for  a  day  or  two. 
Though  the  shooting  was  done  to  protect  our 
property,"  said  Mr.  Cameron,  "  it  is  a  deed  which 
has  always  weighed  heavily  upon  McKay's  con- 
science. French  Joe  died  within  a  month  after- 
wards, and  left  the  young  girl  and  her  child  home- 
less." 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  half  a  dozen  of  the  listen- 
ers in  the  same  breath. 

"  After  his  death  the  question  arose,  what 
should  be  done  with  the  girl  and  her  '  kid,'  as  the 
child  was  called  by  the  miners.  We  knew  that  for 
several  weeks  the  river  would  be  too  high  for  them 
to  leave  the  canyon.  You  may  have  read  about 
the  San  Gabriel  River,  which  has  a  fall  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  to  the  mile.  On  account 
of  its  having  many  short  curves,  and  having  to 
be  crossed  more  than  a  hundred  times  in  going  a 
distance  of  fifteen  miles,  the  stream  is  nearly  im- 
passable in  the  rainy  season.  However,  while 
McKay  and  I  were  making  plans  to  care  for  the 
girl,  illness  decreed  her  fate.  She  was  stricken 
down  with  fever  and  lived  only  a  few  days." 

At  that  juncture  of  the  story,  Grandma  Brad- 
ley was  seen  to  wipe  away  the  tears  that  were 
bound  to  come  to  her  eyes. 

"  When  all  was  over  with  the  mother."  Mr. 
Cameron  went  on  to  say,  "  we  took  the  child  to  the 
cabin.  The  little  fellow  cried  for  her  more  or  less 
at  first  but,  childlike,  was  soon  pacified.  He 
amused  himself  day  by  day  with  chipmunks  that 


93 

came  and  ate  crumbs  from  his  hand.  The  cook 
soon  became  very  fond  of  the  youngster.  I  often 
wondered  if  it  were  memories  of  the  man's  child- 
hood, or  if  it  were  thoughts  of  his  own  little  ones 
that  brought  the  tears  which  frequently  fell  upon 
the  cheeks  of  the  sleeping  boy."  With  a  tremor 
in  his  voice  the  grey-haired  Westerner  said: 
"  The  little  fellow  certainly  was  attractive.  His 
large  dark  eyes  were  shaded  by  long  lashes,  his 
cheeks  were  like  roses,  and  every  hair  of  his  abun- 
dant ringlets  was  like  a  thread  of  shining  gold." 

"  Another  stray  pearl,"  Miss  Dinsmore  re- 
marked. 

"  About  a  week  after  French  Joe  was  taken 
away,"  said  Mr.  Cameron,  "  we  heard  that  Vas- 
quez  and  his  followers  had  stolen  nine  horses  and 
had  killed  a  Mexican  by  the  name  of  Pedro.  Also 
that  they  were  lying  in  wait  for  us.  McKay  and 
I  didn't  propose  to  be  caught  napping.  With 
some  of  our  most  trustworthy  men  we  started  out 
to  find  the  marauders.  After  following  their  trail 
three  days,  their  hiding  place  was  disclosed  by 
blue  smoke  curling  up  from  the  mountain-side. 
Fortunately,  we  came  upon  them  unawares.  Lo- 
pez, more  courageous  than  his  leader,  crept  stealth- 
ily through  the  tall  grass  till  he  was  within  twenty 
feet  of  us.  When  he  arose  shots  were  exchanged, 
and  he  dropped  to  the  ground.  Vasquez  made 
good  his  escape  into  the  forest,  and  the  rest  of 
the  gang  lost  no  time  in  following  his  cowardly 
example. 


"  To  go  back  to  what  I  was  saying  about  the 
child:  when  we  were  about  to  leave  the  canyon 
the  question  arose,  who  should  have  him.  Some 
suggested  that  he  belonged  to  the  owners  of  the 
camp,  others  said  that  the  cook  had  the  best 
right  to  him.  Bogus  Smith,  who  had  never 
shown  the  least  interest  in  the  little  fellow,  was 
heard  to  say: 

"  *  I  mean  to  have  that  "  kid."  I  can  git  big 
money  for  him  in  Frisco.' 

"  There  was  so  much  talk  about  it,"  said  the 
narrator,  "  that  McKay  and  I  decided  the  draw- 
ing of  lots  to  be  the  only  satisfactory  way  of 
settling  the  matter.  The  method  suggested  was 
to  place  several  sticks  of  different  lengths  upon 
the  table  and  let  each  draw  one.  This  was  to  be 
done  three  times  in  succession;  the  one  getting  the 
shortest  piece  every  time  should  be  the  winner. 
Bogus  Smith  was  always  officious, —  he  offered  to 
cut  the  sticks.  As  chance  would  have  it,  the  cook 
won.  In  a  trice  Bogus,  unseen  by  the  others, 
separated  his  stick,  which  was  in  two  sections,  and 
dropping  a  part  of  it  into  his  sleeve,  held  up  a 
shorter  piece  than  any  of  the  others.  Though 
the  men  well  knew  that  he  had  played  some  trick, 
they  were  still  divided  in  opinion  as  to  whom  the 
child  should  be  given." 

With  every  word  the  listeners  became  more  and 
,nore  interested.  Grandma  Bradley  caught  Mr. 
Cameron  by  the  sleeve  and  said: 

"  Why,  Nathan,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 


THE  MINER'S  STORY  95 

you    allowed    that   wretch   to    have    the    child? " 

"  No,  mother,"  he  replied,  "  the  matter  was 
decided  by  a  power  beyond  man  to  control.  There 
had  been  a  scarlet  spot  on  either  cheek  of  the 
boy  for  two  or  three  days;  he  had  eaten  little, 
and  was  restless  in  his  sleep.  That  very  night 
after  those  ruffians  quarreled  about  the  right  of 
ownership  he  grew  worse,  and  just  as  the  first 
flush  of  morning  kissed  the  mountain-tops  his 
spirit  passed  out. 

"  When  one  of  the  men  died  from  accident  or 
otherwise  we  were  not  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to 
dispose  of  his  remains.  But  when  that  innocent 
child  was  taken  away  we  thought  it  merited  a 
different  burial  from  what  was  given  lawless  crimi- 
nals. 

For  want  of  something  better  we  wrapped  the 
delicate,  waxen  figure  in  an  old  piece  of  linen 
and  placed  it  in  a  plain  wooden  box.  Accom- 
panied by  every  man  in  camp  except  Smith,  we 
buried  the  boy  beside  his  mother  beneath  the 
sheltering  branches  of  an  oak.  Though  the  souls 
of  those  men  were  smirched  with  many  a  crime, 
there  was  not  one  among  them  whose  eyes  were 
not  dimmed  with  tears  when  we  turned  away  from 
the  grave  of  our  little  comrade." 

"  I  was  hoping  that  that  miserable  Smith  would 
come  in  for  his  share  of  punishment,"  said  Mr. 
Pelton. 

"  We  left  that  for  a  higher  power,"  said  Mr. 
Cameron.  Then  he  quoted : 


96       CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  Though  the   mills   of   God   grind   slowly, 

Yet  they  grind  exceeding  small; 
Though  with  patience  He  stands  waiting, 
With  exactness  grinds  He  all." 

Rachel  Winn  was  very  courageous  when,  with 
Miss  Dinsmore  and  Miss  Gilman,  she  went  up- 
stairs that  night.  But  upon  being  left  alone,  she 
hurriedly  bolted  her  door,  fastened  the  windows 
securely,  and  drew  the  shades.  She  felt  as  if 
some  robber  was  about  to  pounce  upon  her,  either 
from  under  the  bed  or  from  the  closet,  which  was 
a  portable  affair  consisting  of  a  broad  shelf  with 
a  figured  cretonne  curtain  in  front  of  it. 

"  What,  did  that  drapery  move  ?  "  she  thought. 
It  seemed  to  the  girl  as  if  every  hair  of  her  head 
stood  on  end.  Upon  going  to  the  closet  and  find- 
ing nothing  but  her  articles  of  wearing  apparel, 
she  gained  sufficient  courage  to  look  under  the 
bed.  She  found  nothing  there,  however,  but  an 
old  cheesecloth  duster  which  had  been  dropped 
by  the  chambermaid.  Thereupon  Rachel  retired, 
but  to  say  that  she  had  the  sleep  of  the  blest 
would  be  far  from  the  truth.  She  dreamed  of 
towering  mountains,  of  deep  gorges  through 
which  rivers  dashed  from  crag  to  crag.  To  cap 
all,  the  place  seemed  to  be  inhabited  by  des- 
peradoes similar  to  those  of  whom  she  had  so 
recently  heard.  Thankful,  indeed,  was  she  upon 
waking  to  find  that  the  personages  of  her  dreams, 


THE  MINER'S  STORY  97 

together  with  the  terrible  storm,  had  passed  into 
nothingness. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  river  banks 
were  tufted  with  late  golden-rod,  purpling  wild 
asters  and  red  strawberry  vines.  On  the  hillside 
beyond  pale  yellow  birches,  flaming  sumacs,  silver 
poplars  and  evergreen  trees  mingled  in  a  sym- 
phony of  coloring. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  HUSKING 

With  the  Indian  summer  came  corn  hustings 
and  apple  bees.  Major  Hicks,  who  lived  on  the 
southerly  slope  of  Ripton  Hill,  was  noted  for  get- 
ting his  harvesting  done  two  weeks  earlier  than 
those  who  lived  on  the  meadows.  He  had  the  first 
husking  of  the  season.  A  general  invitation, 
which  included  both  the  villagers  and  the  neigh- 
boring farmers,  was  given  out.  Through  the 
kindness  of  the  artist  at  the  inn  and  Dorcas  Pen- 
dleton,  with  whom  Rachel  Winn  went  to  the  circus, 
she  was  privileged  to  have  another  glimpse  of  the 
joys  of  rural  life. 

The  sun,  like  a  ball  of  fire,  crimsoned  the  hori- 
zon as  the  young  people  sauntered  up  the  hillside. 
Some  were  hand  in  hand,  others  looked  for 
four-leaf  clover,  or  lingered  at  the  cold  spring 
where  they  refreshed  themselves  with  its  limpid 
waters.  While  they  watched  the  crystal  foun- 
tain boiling  out  of  the  shining  sand,  teams 
slowly  zigzagged  from  one  side  of  the  road 
to  the  other  and  stopped  now  and  again  to  rest. 
Who  should  be  in  one  of  the  carriages  but 
the  bride  and  groom  whose  marriage  ceremony 

Rachel  witnessed   on  the  morning  of  circus-day. 

98 


THE  HUSKING  99 

Just  as  they  passed  the  young  man   remarked: 

"  Wa'al,  Betsy,  the'  ain't  no  use  in  talkin',  if 
the  pertaters  on  the  burnt  lot  don't  turn  aout  fust 
class  you  won't  git  a  fore-room  stove  this  winter. 
That's  as  true  as  you're  a  foot  high." 

The  young  woman's  waist  was  no  longer  en- 
circled by  the  arm  of  her  spouse.  He  held  the 
reins  in  one  hand,  in  the  other  one  he  carried  the 
whip  with  which  he  snipped  the  blossoms  from 
sedge-grass  that  grew  in  tufts  by  the  roadside. 
Dorcas  Pendleton  remarked  that  their  honey- 
moon must  be  on  the  wane. 

Flickering  lights  above  the  wide  open  barn  doors 
greeted  the  guests.  Deep  bays  on  either  side  were 
stacked  to  the  eaves  with  fragrant  herds-grass, 
and  scaffolds  above  the  stables  were  piled  high 
with  sheaves  of  wheat  and  trembling  oats  just 
ready  for  threshing.  The  great  barn  was  lighted 
from  end  to  end  with  lanterns  which  swayed  in  the 
breeze  and  cast  long  shadows  upon  the  merry  com- 
pany. Nimbly  flew  the  busy  fingers  till  every 
silken  sheath  had  been  despoiled  of  its  treasure. 
At  sight  of  a  red  ear  the  roof  resounded  with 
laughter  and  the  finder  was  compelled  to  pay  a 
forfeit. 

The  natives  well  knew  that,  the  husking  over, 
a  sumptuous  repast  awaited  them.  Plans  for 
their  further  entertainment  were  a  secret  known 
only  to  Major  Hicks  and  his  wife.  It  might 
have  been  half  past  nine,  or  perhaps  it  was  ten 
o'clock,  when  supper  was  announced. 


The  gorgeous  decorations  of  the  dining-room 
so  completely  absorbed  the  attention  of  everyone 
that  they  nearly  forgot  the  savory  food  before 
them.  The  immense  fireplace  was  banked  with 
late  golden-rod,  delicate  frost-flowers  and  pur- 
pling wild  asters,  and  cluster  upon  cluster  of  crim- 
son sumac  blossoms  was  piled  upon  the  dark  man- 
tel. From  each  corner  of  the  room  ropes  of 
evergreen  came  to  the  centre  and  were  fastened 
to  the  ceiling  with  branches  of  flaming  maple. 
A  deer's  head,  decorated  with  ferns  and  trailing 
partridge  vines  bright  with  scarlet  berries,  adorned 
the  space  above  the  sideboard. 

As  to  the  rich  repast,  one  couldn't  refrain  from 
repeating  the  old  saying:  "  The  tables  groaned 
under  the  weight  of  good  things."  There  were 
baked  beans  in  plenty  and  brown  bread,  the  like 
of  which  was  never  cooked  except  in  a  brick  oven. 
Then  the  home-cured  ham  with  the  breath  of 
smoke  still  upon  it  and  the  thinly  sliced  tongue, 
cooked  to  a  turn,  were  a  feast  in  themselves,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  hot  rolls  that  just  melted  in  one's 
mouth.  What  should  come  next  but  baked 
Indian  pudding,  piping  hot  and  swimming  in 
cream.  That  was  followed  by  mince,  apple,  and 
pumpkin  pie  with  sage  cheese  for  trimmings. 
Then  baskets  piled  high  with  delicate  greenings, 
nut-brown  russets  and  rosy-cheeked  pippins  were 
passed  round.  And  new  cider  was  served  as  freely 
as  water. 

The  feast  over,  the  host  conducted  his  guests 


THE  HUSKING  101 

out  through  a  long  walk  and  up  a  winding  stair- 
case to  a  hall  above  the  granary.  The  newly  laid 
floor  was  fragrant  with  aroma  of  pine,  and  ropes 
of  evergreen  that  adorned  the  rafters  of  the  un- 
finished roof  were  sweet  with  the  breath  of  the 
forest.  Though  the  neighbors  had  heard  consid- 
erable hammering,  they  never  suspected  that  the 
major  was  preparing  a  dance-hall.  Old  Jimmie 
Pike  and  his  third  wife,  who  occupied  a  dilapi- 
dated house  down  by  the  river,  had  heard  more 
or  less  pounding  going  on  for  a  month  or  more, 
but  neither  of  them  could  locate  the  sound.  The 
old  man  was  deaf  in  his  right  ear  and  his  wife 
was  similarly  afflicted  with  her  left  one,  so  they 
rarely  agreed  upon  the  direction  whence  noises 
came.  The  night  before  the  husking  the  old  fel- 
low was  a  little  "  over  the  bay  "  and  unusually 
garrulous.  He  insisted  that  the  noise  came  from 
across  the  river  where  the  Hartwell  boys  were 
splitting  logs.  The  old  lady,  with  equal  assur- 
ance, declared  that  it  came  from  the  Hicks's.  It 
was  never  known  how  the  matter  was  settled,  but 
Farmer  Miller  said : 

"  The'  ain't  no  doubt  but  Mirandy  carried 
the  day.  She  usually  holts  her  own  in  an  argi- 
munt." 

Dancing  was  most  agreeable  to  the  young  peo- 
ple. They  could  scarcely  wait  for  the  major 
to  tune  his  violin.  A  quadrille  was  the  first  figure. 
The  young  men  and  women,  and  even  the  older 
ones,  made  no  delay  in  forming  sets.  All  being 


102     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

in  readiness,  the  major,  who  was  both  musician 
and  prompter,  called  out  in  a  sonorous  voice: 

"  All  balance  to  partners,  right  hand  to  part- 
ners, balance  there,  left  hand  back,"  and  so  on, 
till  every  change  was  completed.  Virginia  reel 
came  next  in  order.  That  was  followed  by  round 
dances.  Rachel  Winn  was  pleased  with  that  an- 
nouncement, but  by  the  time  she  had  been  around 
the  hall  two  or  three  times  with  Job  Gilson  her 
ardor  was  somewhat  dampened.  Job  could  repeat 
the  Scriptures  from  Genesis  to  Revelations,  and 
Shakespeare's  writings  were  as  familiar  to  him 
as  a,  b,  c,  to  a  schoolboy,  but  in  the  terpsichorean 
art  his  education  had  been  sadly  neglected.  That 
"  a  full  head  has  a  close  mouth "  Rachel  didn't 
question.  However,  Job  did  vouchsafe  one  re- 
mark to  her  during  their  gyrations  around  the  hall. 
He  said: 

"  This  is  the  first  time  that  I've  tackled  this 
nonsense,  and  you  bet  it'll  be  the  last,  the  way  the 
sweat  is  wiltin'  down  my  Sunday  collar." 

Next  came  a  quadrille  which  Rachel  danced 
with  a  young  man  from  Norwood,  who  was  at 
home  from  college  on  his  vacation.  Doubtless  he 
had  forgotten  the  names  of  all  farming  utensils. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  he  certainly  had  developed  a 
superabundance  of  self-assurance.  He  remarked: 

"  This  is  awfully  nice  to  be  privileged  to  dance 
with  one  who  so  well  understands  the  art.  In  fact, 
I  am  grateful  for  any  respite  from  the  monotony 


THE  HUSKING  103 

of  Norwood.  It  seems  so  provincial,  don-cher- 
know." 

Just  then  Mr.  Hicks  called  out: 

"  Eight  hands  round."  Thus  the  upstart  was 
prevented  from  making  further  conversation  till 
one  of  the  violin  strings  had  to  be  adjusted. 
Then,  dropping  his  head  to  one  side,  and  crossing 
his  hands  as  if  to  have  his  picture  taken,  he  said 
to  Rachel: 

"  Beg  pardon,  but  I  didn't  get  your  name." 

"  Oh,  didn't  you?  Why,  it  never  occurred  to 
me  that  you  would  want  it." 

"  But  really,  I  am  all  at  sea  as  to  what  to  call 
you.  May  it  be  Brown,  Jones  or  Robinson  ?  " 

"  Neither,"  Rachel  replied.  And  thinking  to 
have  a  little  sport  she  said,  "  White,  if  you  please." 

"  Ah !  And  may  I  ask  where  you  came  from, 
Miss  White?" 

"  From  Barton,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  Barton,"  he  ejaculated.  "  But  where  did  you 
learn  to  dance  ?  " 

"  Why,  at  home,  to  be  sure." 

Of  course,  the  pompous  youth  took  that  with 
a  grain  of  salt.  When  he  referred  to  Dorcas 
Pendleton  for  information  she  gave  him  an  evasive 
answer. 

The  townspeople  were  fond  of  Farmer  Hicks 
and  his  wife.  It  was  with  regret  that  they  heard 
him  say: 

"  While  the  others   are  taking  breath  Rhoda, 


104     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

my  daughter,  will  give  a  little  exhibition  of  waltz- 
ing." 

Unfortunately,  the  daughter  was  neither  tall 
like  her  father,  nor  plump  and  rosy  like  her 
mother.  In  fact,  it  would  be  difficult  for  one  to 
describe  the  girl.  To  say  that  she  had  a  sylphlike 
figure  and  the  grace  of  a  princess  would  be  to 
prevaricate.  A  feather  bed  with  a  string  tied 
around  the  middle  would  simulate  her  shape  more 
nearly  than  anything  else  that  comes  to  mind. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  major,  when  the  artist  from  the 
inn  congratulated  him  on  Rhoda's  accomplish- 
ments, "  she  likes  to  dance  as  well  as  her  old  dad 
likes  to  fiddle."  Then  he  played  faster  than  ever. 

The  question  arose,  would  the  girl  faint  from 
exhaustion,  or  would  she  continue  the  strenuous 
exercise  till  nothing  was  left  of  her  but  the  blue 
ribbon  that  held  her  corkscrew  curls  in  place? 
Rachel  Winn  was  nearly  convulsed  with  laughter 
at  the  ridiculous  figure  which  the  girl  presented, 
but  well  knew  that  her  good  reputation  in  Old 
Riverby  would  be  lost  for  all  time  if  she  ventured 
to  smile.  She  saw  by  the  twinkle  in  the  artist's 
eye  that  he,  too,  was  struggling  for  mastery  over 
the  humorous  side  of  his  nature. 

"  What,"  said  he  to  Dorcas  and  Rachel,  "  is  it 
not  a  little  close  here?  I  think  a  whiff  of  fresh 
air  would  do  us  all  good." 

When  they  returned  to  the  hall  the  major  had 
just  finished  playing  the  "  Blue  Danube  "  waltz. 
Uncle  Rufus  Giles  said : 


THE  HUSKING  105 

"  Come,  Major,  give  us  a  jig."  Thereupon 
the  musician  started  off  in  full  tilt  with  the 
"  Fisher's  Hornpipe." 

Inspired  by  the  hilarity  of  the  girls  and  boys, 
the  vigor  of  youth  returned  to  Uncle  Rufus,  and 
he  danced  like  a  lad  of  sixteen.  Billie  Benson,  as 
the  old  gate-tender  at  Barton  was  called,  caught 
the  spirit  and  exclaimed: 

"  I'll  be  jiggered  if  I'm  goin'  to  be  outdone  by 
any  Old  Riverby  chap !  Give  us  '  Money  Musk,' 
Major,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  with  shakin'  a 
huff." 

That  the  fires  of  youth  still  burned  within  the 
old  man  was  evident.  The  tattoo  of  his  heels 
upon  the  floor,  the  graceful  pose  of  his  body,  and 
the  double-shuffle,  done  with  perfect  ease,  were  a 
delight  to  all.  Widow  Branscom  watched  every 
step  with  interest.  When  the  dancer  completed 
the  last  measure,  he  caught  her  by  the  hand,  and 
said: 

"  Now,  Jane,  give  us  the  pigeonwing  the  same 
as  you  used  to  forty  years  ago." 

"  Yes,  yes,  do,  Mrs.  Branscom,"  came  from  all 
parts  of  the  hall.  She  declined  to  comply  with 
the  request,  but  almost  unconsciously  she  began 
taking  the  steps.  Rich  color  came  to  her  cheeks, 
and  her  dark  eyes  lit  up  with  unusual  brightness 
as  she  seemed  to  be  transported  back  to  her  girl- 
hood. 

Farmer  Gove  from  Glen  River  nudged  the  art- 
ist, and  said: 


106     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  That's  goin'  some,  Mister !  It  don't  seem 
only  yesterday  sence  Widder  Jane  was  a  gal,  and 
a  master  harnsome  one  she  was,  and  no  mistake ! 
I've  had  a  good  deal  of  sympathy  for  her  ever 
sence  her  man  died.  I  know  how  dog-gone  lone- 
some 'tis  not  to  hev  a  soul  to  speak  to  when  night 
comes.  Gee  whiz !  I  could  write  a  book  'bout 
what  I've  suffered  sence  Marthy  died." 

"  Why  on  earth  don't  you  propose  to  the 
widow?"  queried  the  artist. 

"  Perpose?  That's  the  durned  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Gove.  "  I've  harnessed  old  White-foot  more'n 
once  to  come  down  and  ask  her  to  keep  house  for 
me,  but  'fore  I'd  git  half-way  to  the  village  my 
courage'd  fail  and  I'd  turn  the  hoss  round  and 
go  back  home,  lonesomer'n  ever." 

Mr.  Gove  was  not  the  only  one  interested  in 
Widow  Branscom.  Just  behind  him  stood  Doctor 
Kempton  from  Norwood,  and  Deacon  Jones  of 
Old  Riverby,  who  dropped  in  to  see  the  dancers. 
They  were  both  single  men.  The  deacon  was 
heard  to  say: 

"  Well,  Doc,  I'm  surprised  that  you  haven't  dis- 
covered Mrs.  Branscom's  good  points  before  this 
and  taken  her  for  a  helpmate." 

"  You  are,  are  you  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Well, 
I've  thought  the  same  thing  about  a  certain  dea- 
con that  doesn't  live  more  than  forty  miles  from 
here." 

"Have,  have  you?  Ha,  ha!  Well,  no  one 
would  ever  come  up  with  my  Nancy,  so  I  plan 


THE  HUSKING  107 

on  letting  things  slide  along  the  same  as  they  have 
for  the  past  ten  years." 

As  the  last  pirouette  of  the  figure  was  given,  one 
of  the  violin  strings  broke  and  the  whole  company 
began  singing,  "  We  Won't  Go  Home  till  Morn- 
ing." 

However  much  of  truth  there  was  in  the  dea- 
con's statement  that  no  one  could  fill  the  place  of 
his  old  love,  he  was  the  first  to  leave  the  hall  in 
expectation  of  taking  Widow  Branscom  home. 
While  he  was  unhitching  his  horse  and  selecting 
suitable  words  with  which  to  clothe  a  proposal  of 
marriage,  the  wise  old  doctor  was  shaking  her 
hand  cordially  and  congratulating  her  upon  her 
youthful  appearance.  The  flush  that  came  to 
her  cheeks  evinced  the  joy  which  his  words  brought 
to  her  lonely  heart. 

If  the  truth  may  be  told,  Doctor  Kempton  was 
one  of  her  old  beaux.  It  would  be  needless  to  add 
that  he  made  no  haste  as  he  drove  down  Ripton 
Hill  with  Mrs.  Branscom  snugly  tucked  in  beside 
him.  But  it  would  be  no  harm  to  mention  that  in 
less  than  a  month  after  the  husking  "  Widder 
Jane  "  ceased  to  be  and  Doctor  Kempton's  wife 
was  busy  making  her  winter's  supply  of  deli- 
cacies for  the  table. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  LITTLE   WAIF 

Rachel  Winn  spent  many  an  afternoon  in 
Grandma  Bradley's  room.  One  day  the  old  lady 
rose  hurriedly,  peered  over  her  spectacles  at  the 
passing  coach,  and  said : 

"  I  believe  that  is  Elsie  Brodeur  on  the  front 
seat." 

"  And  who  is  she,  pray  tell  me?  "  Rachel  asked. 

"  Why,  she  is  the  wife  of  Doctor  Kendal  of  New 
York,  but  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  their  marriage 
took  place  ten  years  and  more  ago,  I  still  find  my- 
self calling  her  by  her  maiden  name.  Yes,  Elsie 
Brodeur  has  had  a  real  story-book  life."  That 
was  sufficient  to  rouse  Rachel's  curiosity,  and  she 
exclaimed  in  girlish  excitement: 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  about  it!  " 

The  good  woman  despised  anything  that  savored 
of  gossip,  still  she  delighted  in  relating  strange 
incidents  in  the  lives  of  Old  Riverby  people.  Why 
should  she  not  have  a  fund  of  such  information, 
since  she  had  always  lived  there,  with  the  exception 
of  two  years  spent  at  Norwood  Academy? 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock.  The  shadows  of 
the  elms  across  the  road  had  begun  to  lengthen 

when  the  white-haired  woman  measured  the  stock- 

108 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  109 

ing  leg  upon  which  she  was  knitting,  rolled  it  up 
neatly,  and  remarked: 

"  I  never  could  do  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time, 
so  if  I  am  to  tell  you  about  the  strange  happenings 
in  Elsie's  childhood  the  knitting  will  have  to  go 
till  another  day." 

"  It  is  too  bad  to  neglect  your  work,"  Rachel 
said.  At  the  same  time  she  thought  how  much 
worse  it  would  be  if  she  had  to  wait  for  the  story. 

After  wiping  her  spectacles  and  carefully  ad- 
justing them,  the  woman  began  by  saying: 

"  Brodeur  was  not  a  pleasing  name  to  John 
Norton,  Elsie's  grandfather,  who  was  English  to 
the  backbone,  and  who  looked  upon  the  French 
people  as  a  frivolous  set.  It  was  a  good  many 
years  ago  that  the  Nortons  settled  here.  Mr. 
Norton  was  a  sober,  industrious  man,  a  blacksmith 
by  trade.  His  wife  was  a  thrifty  woman,  but  with 
their  four  lusty  boys  and  one  daughter  to  support, 
they  found  it  a  hard  matter  to  make  both  ends 
meet,  so  to  speak.  The  result  was  that  as  soon 
as  each  boy  was  able  to  earn  a  dollar  or  two  a 
month  he  was  let  out  to  some  farmer.  The  father 
declared,  however,  that  in  any  case  Alice,  the 
daughter,  should  not  leave  home.  Nevertheless, 
when  a  lucrative  position  was  offered  her  at  a  tav- 
ern in  York  State,  she  persuaded  her  father  to  let 
her  accept  it. 

"  A  letter  which  Alice  wrote  home  soon  after 
she  went  away  told  of  Jack  Preston  being  desper- 
ately in  love  with  her.  She  described  him  as  six 


feet  three  in  height,  very  slight  in  build,  and  as 
having  freckles  upon  his  face  that  resembled  the 
spots  on  a  trout's  back.  Though  she  expatiated 
at  length  upon  the  looks  of  her  would-be-lover,  she 
carefully  concealed  the  fact  that  the  son  of  a 
wealthy  fur-dealer  from  Canada  was  equally  fond 
of  her." 

"  Perhaps  she  cared  for  him,"  Rachel  ventured 
to  say. 

"  So  it  proved." 

"  And  did  he  marry  her?  " 

"  Yes,  and  if  the  truth  may  be  told,  the  poor 
girl  soon  died  of  a  broken  heart." 

"  Why,  what  caused  her  sorrow  ?  " 

Without  seeming  to  hear  Rachel,  the  woman 
went  on,  saying: 

"  It  was  from  Mira  Barstow,  an  old  friend  of 
mine  who  attended  school  at  Norwood  at  the  time 
I  did,  that  I  heard  of  the  misfortunes  of  the  aris- 
tocratic Canadian  and  his  girl-wife.  Then  I 
little  dreamed  that  she  was  our  neighbor's  daugh- 
ter." 

"  How  strange!  "  Rachel  ejaculated. 

In  explanation  the  story-teller  continued,  say- 
ing: 

"  My  friend  was  an  attractive  girl.  She  mar- 
ried Joe  Redmon,  a  worthless  fellow,  and  went  to 
Canada  to  live.  Her  father  bitterly  opposed  the 
match,  and  immediately  made  a  will  which  cut 
Mira  off  from  all  right  to  his  property.  After 
the  death  of  her  husband  five  years  later,  she  was 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  111 

obliged  to  earn  her  own  living.  It  was  then  that 
she  found  employment  as  seamstress  or  nurse,  as 
the  case  required,  with  the  Brodeurs,  a  wealthy 
family  in  Quebec.  Still  she  kept  her  little  home 
at  Four  Corners,  a  small  settlement  some  five  miles 
away. 

"  I  hadn't  heard  from  Mrs.  Redmon  for  years," 
said  the  narrator,  "  in  fact  I  scarcely  knew 
whether  or  not  she  was  living,  when  one  day, 
greatly  to  my  surprise,  I  received  a  letter  from 
her.  The  first  pages  were  reminiscences  of  our 
schooldays.  Then  came  an  account  of  misfor- 
tunes which  had  befallen  her  since  last  we  met. 
That  was  followed  by  a  pathetic  story  of  a  young 
man  and  woman  whose  lives  were  being  sacrificed 
on  account  of  family  pride." 

Instead  of  relating  the  story,  the  aged  woman 
went  to  an  old  mahogany  secretary  and  took  out 
a  package  of  letters.  As  she  untied  them  and 
looked  them  over  one  by  one,  her  eyes  "filled  with 
tears.  The  last  two  were  from  her  girlhood 
friend.  Passing  one  of  them  to  Rachel  she  said: 

"  Read  the  sad  tale  for  yourself." 

In  the  first  missive  Mrs.  Redmon  said  that  her 
employer's  son  had  secretly  married  a  hotel  wait- 
ress. Then  came  a  detailed  account  of  the 
stormy  interview  between  the  young  man  and  his 
father  when  the  latter  heard  of  the  marriage,  also 
of  the  young  man's  illness  occasioned  by  the  quar- 
rel. Mrs.  Redmon  closed  by  saying  that  the  girl- 
wife  was  coming  to  remain  with  her  till  other 


CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

arrangements  could  be  made.  When  Rachel  fin- 
ished reading  the  first  letter  Grandma  Bradley 
said: 

"  You  must  know  that  I  was  very  anxious  to 
hear  how  the  affair  ended.  It  was  months  before 
I  received  another  word.  I  began  to  think  that 
I  should  never  hear  from  Mira  again  when  this 
came."  She  handed  Rachel  another  letter  which 
told  of  the  arrival  of  Jean  Brodeur's  wife  at  Four 
Corners,  of  what  the  gossiping  neighbors  had  to 
say  about  her,  and  of  her  death  which  occurred 
two  months  later.  Much  was  said  of  the  young 
woman's  pleasure  in  fashioning  garments  for  the 
little  stranger  that  was  soon  expected.  Following 
that,  the  writer  went  on  to  say : 

"  Alas  for  human  hopes !  Another  harrowing 
interview  between  Mr.  Brodeur  and  his  son  brought 
on  a  relapse  of  fever  from  which  the  young  man 
never  recovered.  Immediately  after  Jean's  death 
his  wife  went  to  Montreal,  where  their  child  was 
born,  and  where  the  young  mother  soon  passed 
away. 

"  While  packing  up  the  belongings  of  the  dead 
woman  I  found  letters  from  her  husband,  also 
their  marriage  certificate.  Upon  the  back  of  the 
important  document  was  the  name  and  address  of 
her  father.  The  last  offices  having  been  performed 
for  the  mother,  I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do 
with  the  infant  daughter  that  survived  her.  I 
thought  of  my  own  little  one  that  passed  on  years 
ago,  and  my  heart  was  so  touched  with  pity  that 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  113 

I  brought  the  child  home  with  me.  To  my  face  my 
neighbors  say :  '  How  sweet  of  you  to  take  such 
a  care  upon  yourself.'  Behind  my  back  it  is  quite 
another  story.  But  don't  pity  me,  Martha,"  the 
writer  went  on,  "  criticism,  however  unkind,  cannot 
rob  me  of  the  happiness  that  I  find  in  this  mother- 
less babe." 

"  Poor  Mira,"  said  grandma,  with  a  sigh,  "  I 
never  heard  from  her  again." 

"  What  a  strange  ending  of  the  romance," 
Rachel  thought,  but  she  made  no  comment. 
Finally  the  woman  resumed  the  telling  of  her 
story  by  saying : 

"  Something  like  eight  years  later  a  little  girl, 
unaccompanied  by  any  one,  was  sent  down  on  the 
train  from  Quebec  and  was  put  off  at  Barton. 
Either  from  fear  or  from  loneliness  at  finding 
no  one  at  the  station,  she  sat  down  on  the  doorsill 
and  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

"  I  well  remember  that  cold,  bleak  day,"  said 
the  narrator.  "  The  October  frosts  had  already 
tinted  the  meadows  brown,  the  golden-rod  and 
wild  asters  had  lost  their  bright  coloring,  and  the 
crickets  had  ceased  to  sing  except  for  a  few  be- 
lated ones  that  gave  an  occasional  chirp.  Why, 
even  now  it  saddens  me  to  think  of  that  child  left 
alone  in  such  a  desolate  place.  Fortunately, 
some  one  wanted  to  take  the  midnight  train  going 
north.  Except  for  that,  the  little  waif  would 
have  remained  there  all  night,  or  perhaps  have  been 
carried  off  by  some  wild  animal." 


114     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  Oh,  how  perfectly  dreadful ! "  Rachel  ex- 
claimed. "  What  ever  became  of  her?  " 

"  You  know,"  said  grandma,  "  the  Good  Book 
says,  *  Not  a  sparrow  falleth.'  " 

"  Yes,"  Rachel  replied,  with  the  air  of  a  full- 
fledged  theologian.  "  But  there  are  not  many 
who  are  interested  in  other  people's  children !  " 

"  Too  true,"  said  grandma  with  a  sigh.  "  But 
naturally  Mr.  Tilton,  the  station  agent,  woke  the 
child  and  carried  her  home  with  him.  To  this 
day  he  delights  in  telling  about  the  incident.  He 
describes  her  thoughtful  brown  eyes,  her  wealth  of 
dark  curls,  and  her  rosy  cheeks.  If  he  has  a 
patient  listener  he  describes  the  checked  blue  and 
green  dress,  the  shoes  with  copper  toe-caps,  and 
the  little  plaid  shawl  that  she  wore.  And  he 
never  tires  of  repeating  the  story  the  child  told 
when  questioned  as  to  her  name  and  where  she 
came  from.  He  says  that  she  answered  with  a 
note  of  pride  in  her  voice: 

"  *  My  name  is  Elsie,  and  I  come  from  Four 
Corners.  I  lived  with  Mamma  Redmon  till  she 
took  sick  and  died.' 

"  *  With  whom  did  you  live  after  that?  '  asked 
Mr.  Tilton.  The  child  looked  around  as  if  fearful 
lest  some  one  might  be  listening,  then  she  said  in 
a  tone  of  resentment : 

"  '  With  an  awful  naughty  woman  that  used  to 
beat  me  an'  call  me  names  w'at  I  wouldn't  like  to 
tell.  She  said  I  grow'd  like  Topsy,  'thout  no 
papa  an'  mamma.  I  don't  know  who  Topsy  is,' 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  115 

she  added,  *  but  I  guess  it's  an  old  witch-woman 
w'at  comes  out  of  the  woods  an'  eats  up  little  chil- 
dern.' 

"  When  undressing  the  child,"  said  the  story- 
teller, "  Mrs.  Tilton  found  a  marriage  certificate 
in  an  old  handkerchief  which  was  pinned  to  her 
clothing,  the  contracting  parties  being  Jean  Bro- 
deur  and  Alice  Norton.  Seeing  that  John  Nor- 
ton's name  and  address  were  on  the  back  of  the 
document,  the  Tiltons  brought  the  child  over  here 
the  following  day. 

"  The  men  who  stood  by  while  Mr.  Norton  read 
the  contents  of  the  time-worn  paper  wondered  why 
he  was  so  deeply  affected.  When  he  took  the  little 
stranger  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  the  house, 
Mr.  Tilton  told  them  about  finding  her  at  the  sta- 
tion and  about  the  marriage  contract.  They  all 
understood;  they  remembered  Alice  Norton  and 
well  knew  the  sorrow  that  her  mysterious'  disap- 
pearance caused  her  parents.  There  was  not  one 
in  the  company  who  did  not  sympathize  with  his 
neighbor.  Even  brusque  old  Jimmie  Mills  was 
seen  to  wipe  his  eyes  frequently  as  he  sauntered 
down  the  road  toward  the  starch  factory. 

"  There  was  a  great  to-do  when  it  became  known 
that  a  daughter  of  Alice  Norton  had  been  brought 
home  to  her  grandparents.  Poor  child,  she  was 
shunned  by  some  of  the  children.  That  *  the  first 
shall  be  last  and  the  last  first '  has  again  come 
true.  Now  there  isn't  one  in  the  village  who 
doesn't  love  and  respect  her. 


116     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  Many  a  rainy  day  Elsie  whiled  away  for  her 
grandfather  in  reading  to  him.  In  turn  he  used 
to  tell  her  about  his  childhood  spent  in  England. 
The  stone  cottage  covered  with  ivy  and  enclosed 
by  an  evergreen  hedge  lost  none  of  its  beauty  in 
his  description.  And  the  old  sailing  vessel  which 
brought  his  family  to  America  was  not  forgotten. 
Elsie  never  tired  of  hearing  about  his  mother 
gathering  her  six  children  around  her  morning, 
noon  and  night,  and  giving  them  their  meals  from 
a  small  tin  trunk  that  contained  the  food.  He 
usually  concluded  by  saying  that  his  mother's  seed- 
cakes and  plum  duff  were  better  than  any  that  he 
had  ever  eaten  since. 

"  Elsie  was  between  twelve  and  thirteen  years 
old,"  said  the  story-teller,  "  when  her  grandmother 
was  taken  away.  Rather  than  have  a  stranger 
come  into  the  home  to  manage  affairs,  Mr.  Norton 
decided  that  he  and  the  little  girl  could  get  along 
very  well  by  themselves.  That  was  sufficient  for 
the  busybodies."  In  an  undertone,  as  if  some 
neighbor  might  hear  her,  she  said :  "  With  all 
due  respect  for  the  villagers,  I  must  confess  that 
every  community  has  more  or  less  of  such  people. 
I  won't  mention  any  names,  but  one  of  the  neigh- 
bors said  to  me : 

"  *  Land  sakes !  Ain't  it  a  pity  to  have  Mr. 
Norton  living  there  alone  when  there's  the  Widder 
Brackett  on  Ripton  Hill  hain't  got  a  soul  to  cut 
a  stick  of  wood  or  to  draw  a  pail  of  water  for  her ! 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  117 

He  goes  mopin'  round  and  tellin'  that  there  never 
was  such  another  woman  as  his  wife.' ' 

"  What  strange  people  you  have  here,"  Rachel 
commented. 

"  If  you  think  that  odd,"  said  her  friend,  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  will  think  of  what  our  old 
minister  said  to  Mr.  Norton  regarding  a  second 
marriage.  The  old  gentleman  called  at  the  black- 
smith shop  one  day,  ostensibly  to  get  his  horse 
shod.  After  exhausting  the  subject  of  the  drought 
and  the  rainstorm  that  followed,  and  giving  his 
opinion  as  to  their  effect  upon  the  crops,  he  said, 
in  his  usual  nasal  tone: 

"  '  Well,  Brother  Norton,  has  it  ever  occurred 
to  you  that  it  is  your  duty  to  take  unto  yourself 
another  helpmate?  '  The  man  assured  him  that 
he  had  given  the  matter  no  consideration.  Noth- 
ing daunted,  the  elder  went  on,  saying:  'You 
know  the  Scripter  tells  us  to  look  after  the  widders 
and  fatherless,  and  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  means 
more  'specially  the  widders.  Now  there's  Mis' 
Bliffin  over  to  Northfield  Corner;  a  better  woman 
never  trod  shoe-leather.  She's  got  a  big  family 
to  fetch  up  and  nobody  to  help  her.  Bliffin  was 
a  good  man  enough  as  fur's  the  world  goes,  but 
he  never  see  the  inside  of  a  meetin'-house  in  his 
life.  And  as  to  his  children,  why,  man  alive! 
They  never  even  heard  about  Jonah  swallerin'  the 
whale  nor  about  Eve  makin'  Adam  out  of  a  rib 
and  a  thousand  and  one  other  things  that's  neces- 
sary to  know  in  order  to  be  saved.' 


118     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  In  reply  Mr.  Norton  said :  '  Well,  Parson,  I 
think  of  no  one  more  capable  of  training  the 
young  Bliffins  than  you  are.' 

"  That  silenced  the  elder  for  the  time  being. 
Finally  he  said : 

"  '  I've  thought  of  that  myself  before  now,  and 
as  you  don't  'pear  to  be  interested,  I  guess  I'll  ride 
over  some  day  and  see  about  where  I  stand  in 
the  widder's  affections.' ' 

That  was  too  much  for  Rachel,  and  she  laughed 
outright.  After  her  merriment  subsided  the  story- 
teller continued,  saying: 

"  It  was  soon  after  that  conversation  that  Elsie's 
life  was  completely  changed,  and  through  cir- 
cumstances which  could  have  been  guided  only 
by  the  hand  of  Providence." 

"  Oh !  How  interesting !  In  what  way  did  it 
come  about?  "  Rachel  queried. 

"  While  on  her  way  to  school  one  morning,"  said 
grandma,  "  Elsie  found  a  purse  containing  several 
gold  pieces.  When  returning  home  with  her 
treasure-trove  many  plans  of  how  she  would  spend 
it  flitted  through  her  mind.  Her  dream  of  hap- 
piness was  shattered,  however,  when  told  by  her 
grandfather  that  he  would  place  a  notice  in  the 
postoffice,  so  that  the  owner  might  claim  his  prop- 
erty. 

"  The  days  came  and  went  and  weeks  crept  into 
months;  still  no  one  called  for  the  purse.  Finally, 
one  morning,  the  first  of  September,  a  gentle  tap 
came  at  the  front  entrance  of  the  Norton 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  119 

home.  That  door  was  seldom  opened,  and  the 
rusty  hinges  actually  groaned  when  it  swung  back 
upon  them.  Whom  should  Mr.  Norton  find  stand- 
ing there  but  a  distinguished  looking  middle-aged 
woman. 

" '  Whatever  brought  such  a  personage  here 
at  this  early  hour?  '  the  man  thought.  He  had 
not  long  to  wonder,  for  the  visitor  soon  made 
known  her  errand.  She  said  that  while  on  her 
way  to  the  mountains  in  June  she  lost  her  purse 
and,  thinking  that  an  attempt  to  find  it  would  be 
like  hunting  for  a  needle  in  a  haymow,  she  did 
nothing  about  it.  The  woman  continued,  saying: 

" '  The  money  which  the  silken  trinket  con- 
tained was  of  little  value  compared  with  that  of 
the  article  itself.  It  once  belonged  to  my  mother, 
and  from  association  I  prized  it  highly.' 

"  The  description  of  the  purse  was  so  accurate," 
said  the  story-teller,  "  that  Mr.  Norton  immedi- 
ately gave  it  to  the  woman.  She  was  profuse  in 
her  thanks  and  offered  to  repay  him  for  his  trou- 
ble. He  declined  to  accept  remuneration  for  what 
he  termed  merely  doing  his  duty. 

"  The  caller  seemed  in  no  haste.  While  she 
lingered  and  chatted  school-time  came  and  Elsie, 
much  to  her  regret,  was  obliged  to  be  on  her  way. 
After  the  child  was  well  out  of  hearing  the  stran- 
ger made  several  inquiries  regarding  her.  The 
man  thought  nothing  of  that,  but  in  a  few  days 
he  received  a  letter  from  the  stranger  expressing 
a  wish  to  adopt  Elsie.  The  letter  was  signed, 


120     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

'  Mrs.  Rudolph  Champlain,  Janesville,  New  York.* 

"  The  old  gentleman  read  the  missive  twice  be- 
fore he  fully  comprehended  its  import.  Then  he 
exclaimed : 

"  '  What !  A  Norton  give  away  his  own  flesh 
and  blood?  Never! '  But  in  spite  of  that  decla- 
ration, when  for  the  third  time  he  read  the  letter, 
he  mused,  saying :  *  I  don't  know  but  she  is  right. 
It  has  come  to  me  a  good  many  times  lately  that 
the  girl  needs  the  training  which  only  a  woman  can 
give.' 

"  When  Elsie  returned  from  school  her  grand- 
father took  her  upon  his  knee,  and  together  they 
perused  the  neatly  written  pages.  At  first  she, 
like  any  youngster,  was  delighted  with  the  pros- 
pect of  going  to  live  with  the  '  story-book  lady,'  as 
she  called  Mrs.  Champlain.  Then,  at  the  thought 
of  being  separated  from  all  that  was  dear  to  her, 
she  told  her  grandfather  that  she  would  never  leave 
him.  The  days  that  passed  between  the  receipt 
of  the  letter  and  Elsie's  going  away  were  sad  ones 
for  the  lonely  old  man." 

"  What!     Did  he  really  let  her  go?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  narrator,  "  and  Mr.  Norton 
told  me  himself  that  parting  with  the  child  was 
like  losing  another  Alice. 

"  '  But,'  said  he,  '  I  couldn't  deprive  the  girl  of 
her  rights.  You  know,  Mrs.  Bradley,  as  well  as 
I  do  that  she  has  good  blood  in  her  veins.' 

"  I  couldn't  dispute  him.  With  each  year,  the 
strength  of  character  of  Elsie's  English  mother 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  Ifcl 

and  the  refinement  inherited  from  her  French  father 
became  more  and  more  apparent. 

"  After  considering  the  matter  from  every  point 
of  view,  and  consulting  two  or  three  old  friends 
of  the  family,  Mr.  Norton  wrote  Mrs.  Champlain, 
telling  her  that  he  had  decided  to  place  his  grand- 
daughter in  her  care.  Their  neighbors  told  me," 
said  the  story-teller,  "  that  it  was  interesting  to 
see  the  womanliness  with  which  Elsie  prepared  her 
scanty  wardrobe  for  going  away.  But  it  touched 
their  hearts  with  pity  when  they  saw  her  bidding 
good-bye  to  her  hens  and  chickens  that  she  had 
carefully  tended,  and  to  the  black  and  white  kitten 
that  was  all  her  own. 

"  The  day  that  Elsie  and  her  grandfather  left 
Old  Riverby  was  clear  and  crisp,  and  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  they  were  so  soon  to  be  separated, 
they  enjoyed  the  ever  changing  scenery.  Mrs. 
Champlain  met  them  at  the  station.  I  suppose," 
said  grandma,  "  that  one  can  scarcely  imagine  the 
girl's  joy  in  that  first  ride  in  a  beautiful  carriage 
drawn  by  prancing  horses,  or  her  surprise  when 
she  entered  that  magnificent  home." 

"  Why,  this  is  a  fairy  tale  in  real  life !  "  Rachel 
ejaculated. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  declared  the  narrator.  "  The 
first  time  Elsie  returned  to  the  village  she  told  me 
that  the  furniture  in  her  chamber  was  mahogany 
and  that  the  high-posted  bed  had  figured  blue 
satin  draperies  caught  back  from  the  corners. 
Then  in  her  childish  glee  she  added: 


CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  '  And  do  you  know,  I  have  the  bureau  all  to 
myself!'  Then  she  said:  'What  a  silly  coot  I 
am  telling  all  about  my  room  and  not  so  much  as 
asking  if  your  old  tabby-cat  has  found  any  new  kit- 
tens since  I  went  away.  But  really,  Mrs.  Bradley,' 
she  went  on,  '  you  can't  imagine  how  strange 
I  felt  while  unpacking  my  inexpensive  clothes 
amid  all  those  lovely  furnishings.  I  just  trembled 
lest  it  should  prove  to  be  a  dream.  But  now,  for 
all  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Champlain  are  so  kind  to 
me,  some  nights  I  cry  myself  to  sleep  thinking 
about  Old  Riverby  and  wishing  I  were  back  here.' 

"  The  Champlains  were  fine  people,"  said 
Rachel's  informant.  "  Their  foster  daughter  had 
the  same  advantages  that  would  have  been  given 
their  own  child  had  she  been  spared  to  them.  Yes, 
Elsie  went  to  one  of  the  finest  boarding  schools  in 
the  country,  and  before  we  realized  how  time  was 
flying,  she  was  ready  to  graduate.  But  her  pleas- 
ures, like  those  of  other  mortals,  were  not  unal- 
loyed with  pain.  One  day  soon  after  graduation 
she  overheard  a  girl  say : 

"  *  I  don't  envy  Elsie  Champlain  if  she  did  get 
the  highest  per  cent  in  music  of  any  one  in  the 
class !  She  is  only  an  adopted  child,  and,  further- 
more, there  is  a  question  as  to  whether  or  not  her 
parents  were  ever  married.' ' 

The  story-teller  sat  musing  for  awhile  then  she 
said: 

"  I  have  never  fully  made  up  my  mind  whether  it 
was  from  fondness  for  the  young  man  that  Mr. 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  128 

Champlain  invited  Doctor  Kendal  to  pass  the 
Christmas  holidays  with  him,  or  if  he  thought  to 
make  a  match  for  his  ward.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it 
was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  It  was  an  open  se- 
cret that  after  the  doctor's  return  to  New  York 
there  was  a  regular  correspondence  between  him 
and  the  girl.  For  sometime  Elsie  read  his  letters  to 
her  foster  parents.  Finally  a  missive  came  which 
she  carefully  concealed.  One  stormy  night,  how- 
ever, when  they  sat  by  the  fire  that  burned  low  on 
the  hearth,  she  told  her  benefactors  that  the  last 
letter  from  her  friend  contained  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage. When  congratulated  upon  her  good  fortune 
in  having  gained  the  affections  of  such  an  estimable 
man,  she  burst  into  tears.  After  regaining  suffi- 
cient composure,  Elsie  told  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cham- 
plain  what  she  had  overheard  her  classmate  say. 
Furthermore,  she  declared  that  she  would  never  be- 
troth herself  to  any  man  till  the  mystery  spoken 
of  had  been  solved.  Acting  upon  the  decision,  she 
wrote  to  the  young  man  declining  his  offer,  and 
telling  him  her  reasons  for  doing  so. 

"  That  made  no  difference  to  one  of  Doctor 
Kendal's  strength  of  character.  He  replied  at 
once,  saying  that  he  would  bide  her  time.  Then 
came  a  beautiful  diamond  ring,  which  Elsie  kept 
carefully  concealed  till  her  engagement  was  an- 
nounced. She  has  told  me  since  her  marriage  that 
no  one  could  fancy  how  she  longed  to  flaunt  the 
costly  token  in  the  face  of  the  girl  who  caused  her 
humiliation. 


124     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  As  in  a  fairy  tale,"  the  narrator  went  on, 
"  everything  came  out  all  right.  After  her  grand- 
father's death,  while  looking  over  articles  which 
for  many  years  had  been  accumulating  in  the  attic, 
Elsie  came  across  an  old  leather-covered  trunk 
which  contained  many  time-worn  account  books 
and  old  bills  belonging  to  him.  Upon  the  top  of 
them  lay  a  bundle  of  letters  tied  together  with 
faded  pink  worsted.  When  she  lifted  it  the  moth- 
eaten  threads  broke,  and  away  went  the  long  for- 
gotten missives  scattered  over  the  floor.  The  first 
envelope  to  be  picked  up  was  larger  than  the 
others, —  and  what  think  you?  When  Elsie 
opened  it  she  found  her  mother's  marriage  certifi- 
cate." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  mean  it ! "  Rachel  exclaimed  in 
breathless  excitement. 

"  Indeed  I  do,  and  once  in  possession  of  the  doc- 
ument, the  girl  lost  no  time  in  returning  home. 
It  goes  without  saying  that  Mr.  Champlain  and 
his  ward  were  soon  on  their  way  to  Quebec.  What 
they  learned  from  a  hotel  clerk  convinced  them 
that  Mr.  Brodeur,  a  retired  fur-dealer,  living  in  a 
beautiful  chateau  situated  some  distance  from  the 
city,  was  Elsie's  grandfather.  They  called  upon 
him,  and  were  told  that  his  business  affairs  were  in 
the  hands  of  an  agent  who  could  be  found  at  403 
Rue  de  Frontenac.  Nothing  daunted,  Mr.  Cham- 
plain  insisted  upon  seeing  the  gentleman  personally. 
After  much  parley  the  aristocrat  led  the  way  to  an 
adjoining  room." 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  125 

"  Why,  it  seems  as  if  I  can  see  the  gouty  old 
crosspatch  limping  along,"  Rachel  commented. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  her  friend,  "  when 
told  that  the  young  woman  was  the  daughter  of  his 
son,  Jean  Brodeur,  the  old  fellow  flew  into  a  rage 
and  declared  his  visitors  to  be  impostors.  How- 
ever, after  venting  his  wrath,  he  mused,  say- 
ing: 

"  '  Yes,  I  had  a  son  who  brought  disgrace  upon 
the  family  by  marrying  a  woman  beneath  him  so- 
cially. I  never  saw  her,  nor  did  I  care  to.  It 
was  enough  for  me  that  through  her  I  lost  my  only 
son.' 

"  Mr.  Champlain  waited  till  the  man  regained  a 
certain  degree  of  composure,  then  he  told  him 
about  the  little  girl  that  was  sent  from  Four  Cor- 
ners to  Barton  by  some  unknown  person.  He  then 
took  the  marriage  contract  from  his  pocket,  and 
said: 

"  '  Sir,  whether  or  not  you  wish  to  acknowledge 
any  relationship  to  my  ward,  this  is  undeniable 
proof  that  she  is  your  granddaughter.'  Before 
the  old  gentleman  had  time  to  reply,  Mr.  Cham- 
plain  continued,  saying :  '  Allow  me  to  say  that 
we  are  not  here  upon  a  mercenary  errand.  Since 
evil-minded  people  have  seen  fit  to  question  the 
legitimacy  of  her  birth,  and  as  she  is  virtually  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  a  most  estimable  young 
man,  I  have  taken  this  means  to  ferret  out  the 
truth  of  the  matter.' 

"  I  was  told,"  said  Rachel's  friend,  "  that  Mr. 


126     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

Brodeur  turned  deathly  pale  when  confronted  with 
the  facts.  He  soliloquized,  saying: 

"  '  Why,  it  comes  to  me,  now.  Mrs.  Redmon, 
who  lived  at  Four  Corners,  was  employed  by  us 
for  years.  I  remember  that  soon  after  my  son's 
death  she  went  to  Montreal  and  brought  an  infant 
home  with  her.  The  child  might  have  been  six  or 
seven  years  old  when  the  woman  was  thrown  from 
a  carriage  and  seriously  injured.  A  day  or  two 
before  her  death  a  messenger  came  and  said  that 
Mrs.  Redmon  had  a  secret  which  she  must  confide 
to  me.  I  paid  no  attention  to  it,  and  the  first  I 
knew  the  faithful  soul  passed  away.'  Then, 
grasping  his  guest  by  the  arm,  the  old  man  cried : 
'  My  God !  This  must  have  been  the  secret ! ' 

"  Elsie  told  me,"  said  the  narrator,  "  that  the 
unhappy  man  cried  like  a  child,  and  was  profuse 
in  his  thanks  to  Mr.  Champlain  for  having  cared 
for  her.  He  also  offered  to  remunerate  him  hand- 
somely for  all  trouble  to  which  he  had  been  on  her 
account.  He  then  made  inquiries  regarding  the 
prospective  bridegroom.  When  told  his  name  and 
that  he  was  a  physician,  his  face  lighted  up,  and 
he  said : 

" '  Kendal,  Kendal,  that  is  the  name  of  my 
daughter's  husband.  He  has  a  nephew  who  is  a 
physician.  From  your  description  he  must  be  the 
same  person ! ' 

"  If  you  believe  me,"  said  grandma,  "  the  hith- 
erto erratic  old  gentleman  begged  Elsie  to  come 
and  live  with  him !  Under  the  circumstances  she 


THE  LITTLE  WAIF  127 

was  unable  to  accept  his  hospitality.  Without 
the  least  bitterness,  however,  she  assured  him  that 
he  would  be  a  welcome  guest  in  her  home  whenever 
it  pleased  him  to  visit  her. 

"  The  bridegroom  proved  to  be  the  same  Doctor 
Kendal  whom  Mr.  Brodeur  had  mentioned.  With 
her  grandfather,  her  uncle  and  aunt,  together  with 
their  sons  and  daughters,  Elsie's  family  was  well 
represented  at  her  wedding.  And  thus  it  is," 
concluded  the  story-teller,  "  that  the  wheel  of  for- 
tune turns." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 

Nearly  every  town  used  to  boast  of  its  haunted 
house.  Old  Riverby  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
There  certainly  was  something  uncanny  about  the 
tumble-down  chimneys  and  decaying  walls  of  the 
old  Bensil  house.  It  was  situated  in  an  open  field 
some  distance  from  the  road.  No  woman  or  child 
dared  go  that  way  alone  in  the  evening,  and  it  was 
a  foregone  conclusion  that  some  men  in  the  village 
would  rather  climb  Ripton  Hill  than  to  pass  there 
after  dark. 

The  members  of  the  inn-keeper's  family  were  not 
given  to  superstition,  and  it  never  occurred  to 
them  to  caution  Rachel  Winn  about  visiting  the 
old  place.  One  day,  when  the  girl  was  a  bit  home- 
sick and  preferred  the  companionship  of  "  Jane 
Eyre  "  to  that  of  the  guests,  she  wandered  along 
the  river  road  and,  coming  to  the  old  estate,  made 
bold  to  enter,  even  though  there  was  a  sign  which 
prohibited  trespassing.  Venturing  through  the 
half-open  gate  that  hung  upon  one  hinge,  she  found 
herself  on  a  broad  walk  paved  with  cobblestones. 
She  kept  on  to  the  piazza  where,  with  her  first 
footfall  upon  the  lower  step,  the  board  gave  way, 

and    she    came    near    falling   headlong.     Nothing 
128 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  129 

daunted,  she  tried  another  step  and  still  another 
till  she  finally  reached  the  landing.  Upon  seeing 
the  stranger  two  bluebirds  nesting  among  the 
vines  were  frightened  away.  They  soon  returned, 
however,  each  bringing  food  for  the  young  ones. 

Almost  within  reach  stood  a  moss-covered  well- 
curb  with  its  weather-beaten  sweep  halting  in  mid- 
air. Beyond  lay  the  unkempt  flower  garden.  In 
spite  of  the  weeds,  poppies  —  scarlet,  pink  and 
white  —  grew  abundantly,  and  hollyhocks,  which 
had  sown  themselves  year  after  year,  swayed  in 
the  breeze.  Then,  too,  velvet  marigolds  peeped  out 
from  among  blue  and  white  bachelor's  buttons. 
The  garden  was  separated  from  a  field  that  sloped 
down  to  the  river  by  a  hedge  of  old-fashioned  blush 
rosebushes. 

Rachel  had  read  only  a  few  pages  when  she  heard 
a  rustling  of  dry  leaves.  Turning,  she  saw  a  chip- 
munk sitting  on  his  haunches  and  looking  at  her 
as  much  as  to  s'ay: 

"  What  right  have  you  here  upon  private 
grounds  ?  "  In  spite  of  his  airs,  he  filled  his  cheeks 
with  peanuts  that  were  thrown  to  him  and  darted 
out  of  sight. 

Rachel  resumed  her  reading  and  took  no  note  of 
time  till  she  saw  Lyman  Tedford  going  over  the 
hill  with  his  cows.  She  then  gathered  up  her 
skirts  and  hurried  down  the  grass-grown  path, 
which  was  already  wet  with  dew.  It  was  nearly 
seven  o'clock  when  she  reached  the  inn.  Mr. 
Bradley  looked  up  from  his  paper  and  said: 


130     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  Well,  Miss  Oddity,  where  have  you  been  ?  " 
Before  the  girl  had  time  to  reply,  he  added :  "  We 
were  about  to  send  the  town-crier  after  you !  " 

While  going  upstreet  with  Dorcas  Pendleton 
that  evening,  Rachel  incidentally  mentioned  that 
she  spent  the  afternoon  at  the  old  Bensil  estate. 
Daddy  Bean,  a  veteran  of  the  Civil  War,  hap- 
pened to  hear  her.  He  stopped  short  and,  bal- 
ancing himself  upon  his  wooden  leg,  said: 

"  Did  you  actilly  go  to  that  ha'nted  house, 
Miss  ?  "  When  Rachel  assured  him  that  she  did, 
he  went  on  to  say :  "  You  better  be  shy  of  that 
place,  for  they  say  the  ghost  of  old  lady  Bensil 
appears  there  betimes.  No  wonder  she  can't  rest 
in  her  grave  with  *  Pete  '  Bliss,  that  gran'son  of 
hern,  at  large!  There's  them  that  says  he  was 
blamed  ugly  to  the  poor  old  creter  'fore  she  died. 
And  everybody  in  town  knows  that  he  run  off 
with  what  money  there  was  in  the  house  'fore  the 
relations  had  a  chance  to  hear  the  will  read.  He 
allus  was  kind  of  a  dare-devil  chap,  that  '  Pete,'  ' 
muttered  the  old  soldier. 

Rachel  ventured  to  ask  if  the  worthless  fellow 
ever  returned  to  Old  Riverby.  To  that  her  in- 
formant said: 

"  Guess  not !  He's  bright  enough  to  know 
there's  three  counts  outstandin'  ag'in  him  here. 
One  for  stealin',  another  for  skippin'  out  of  the 
sarvice  and  the  third  for  leadin'  poor  Mary  Aldin 
astray  and  then  leavin'  her  'thout  no  father  to  her 
baby." 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  131 

The  girls  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  passing  on, 
left  the  old  man  to  his  ruminations.  Then  be- 
gan Dorcas  Pendleton's  story  of  the  strange  hap- 
penings at  the  haunted  house. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  I  have  heard  my  mother 
say  that  a  man  from  Barton  who  bought  the  place 
had  scarcely  moved  in  when  his  cows  began  to 
give  bloody  milk,  and  every  member  of  the  family, 
even  to  the  hired  man,  was  taken  with  a  violent  ill- 
ness like  that  of  poisoning !  " 

"  In  that  case,  what  did  the  new  owner  do  ?  " 
Rachel  queried. 

"  He  sold  the  place  back  to  the  heirs  for  less 
than  half  what  he  gave  for  it,  and  returned  to 
Barton." 

"  And  has  it  been  tenantless  ever  since?  " 

"  With  the  exception  of  about  two  months,  when 
it  was  occupied  by  a  French-Canadian  who  left 
on  account  of  hearing  strange  noises  which  came 
from  the  attic.  But  it  has  recently  been  sold  to 
a  gentleman  from  Chicago  who  purposes  to  have 
it  for  a  summer  home."  Then  Dorcas  went  on, 
saying :  "  My  father  declares  he  is  a  crank  on 
the  germ  theory,  and  says  that  every  tree  and 
shrub  is  to  be  cut  down.  Even  the  old  well-curb  is 
to  be  destroyed  to  give  place  to  a  sun-parlor !  " 

"  What  a  pity,"  Rachel  exclaimed,  "  that  the 
beauty  which  age  alone  gives  a  place  should  be 
marred  by  one  who  has  no  appreciation  of  any- 
thing but  dollars  and  cents !  "  She  soon  revealed 
the  fact  that  the  remark  was  not  original  by  say- 


132    CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

ing  that  that  was  what  her  father  said  when  a 
real  estate  agent  denuded  the  hillside  near  their 
home  of  its  trees  and  erected  an  unsightly  tene- 
ment block.  "  If  the  old  Bensil  place  were  mine," 
Rachel  continued,  "  only  necessary  repairs  should 
be  made,  and  the  well-curb  and  its  long-armed 
sweep  should  remain  as  an  ornament." 

Dorcas  quite  agreed  with  her.  She,  too,  liked 
the  charm  of  the  old  house  as  it  was. 

The  Bradley  household  was  awakened  at  a  late 
hour  that  night  by  some  one  knocking  at  the  side 
door.  The  landlord,  thinking  that  it  might  be 
one  of  the  thread-makers  on  a  spree,  turned  over 
and  went  to  sleep  again.  The  ; pounding  con- 
tinued, however,  till  he  arose  and,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  asked  what  was  wanted.  In  reply  a 
trembling  voice  cried : 

"  For  God's  sake,  let  me  in !  " 

The  inn-keeper  delayed  no  longer,  but  slipped 
on  some  of  his  clothing,  and  hurried  down  to  the 
door.  Who  should  be  there  but  Peter  Bliss,  the 
scapegrace  of  whom  Daddy  Bean  had  given  such 
an  unpleasant  account!  The  man,  both  coatless 
and  hatless,  stood  aghast.  It  was  only  by  his 
unmistakable  red-brown  hair  and  the  purple  scar 
beneath  his  left  eye  that  Mr.  Bradley  recognized 
him. 

Rachel  Winn's  chamber  was  immediately  over 
the  office.  By  means  of  an  aperture  in  the  floor 
through  which  the  stovepipe  came  she  heard  the 
following  conversation. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  133 

"  Explain  yourself !  "  demanded  the  landlord. 
"  Why  have  you  of  all  persons  turned  up  at  this 
hour  of  the  night  ?  " 

"  God,  man !  "  said  the  wayfarer,  "  I  don't  won- 
der you  ask.  Give  me  time,  and  I'll  tell  you !  " 

The  two  men  stepped  inside,  and  Mr.  Bradley 
said :  "  Go  on  with  your  story,  I  am  listen- 
ing." 

It  was  then  that  the  criminal  confessed  to  having 
ill-treated  his  aged  grandmother.  He  also  con- 
fessed to  having  stolen  her  money  while  she  lay 
on  her  deathbed.  To  that  cowardly  act  the  crime 
of  desertion  was  added.  Then  he  went  on  to  say 
that  when  he  read  about  the  sale  of  the  old  place 
he  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  return  to  it 
once  more  before  it  passed  into  the  hands  of 
strangers. 

"  At  dusk,"  the  outcast  continued,  "  I  took  a 
boat  from  Norwood  Landing  and  came  down  the 
river.  I  concealed  the  skiff  under  a  pile  of  brush- 
wood and  climbed  the  steep  slope,  thinking  to  be 
off  again  before  daybreak.  I  carefully  crept  over 
the  knoll  at  the  rear  of  the  barn,  and  put  my 
ear  to  the  ground  now  and  again  to  find  if  any 
teams  were  passing.  All  being  quiet,  I  proceeded 
toward  the  house.  I  had  gone  but  a  few  steps 
when  an  owl  hooted.  My  hair  fairly  stood  on 
end ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  devil  himself  was  after 
me!" 

"  Never  mind  about  your  bosom  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Bradley.  "  Go  on  with  your  story." 


134     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

The  man  resumed  the  telling  of  his  weird  ex- 
perience by  saying: 

"  The  house  seemed  strange  till  I  reached  the 
room  which  I  occupied  when  a  boy.  There  was 
no  furniture  left  except  an  old  couch;  upon  that 
I  threw  myself  and  fell  asleep.  When  I  woke  the 
sun  was  streaming  through  the  shutters.  I  well 
knew  that  to  think  of  leaving  town  during  the 
day  was  out  of  the  question,  so  I  spent  the  morn- 
ing in  reading  old  letters  that  for  years  have  been 
hidden  away  in  a  secret  closet.  Toward  night  I 
was  startled  by  hearing  footsteps.  Fearing  that 
the  officers  had  apprehended  me,  my  heart  actually 
stood  still.  I  crept  down  over  the  stairs  and 
peered  out  beside  the  window  shade,  to  find  that  a 
young  girl  sat  on  the  piazza  reading.  I  was 
about  to  take  her  into  my  confidence  and  ask  her 
to  bring  me  something  to  eat,  when  she  closed  her 
book  and  started  down  the  walk. 

"  When  night  came,  thinking  to  watch  the  light- 
ning and  perhaps  to  hear  the  rain  patter  on  the 
roof,  I  again  threw  myself  onto  the  couch. 
Again  I  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  that  I  was  on  the 
very  brink  of  the  infernal  regions.  There,  stirred 
by  laughing  demons,  was  the  brimstone  from  which 
came  suffocating  fumes.  I  turned  and  saw  my 
mother  with  arms  outstretched  to  save  me  from 
the  fiery  pit.  Upon  the  wall,  in  words  of  flame, 
was  written  every  evil  deed  of  my  life." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  broad  space  that  held 
them,"  said  Mr.  Bradley  contemptuously. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  135 

"  Right  you  are,"  conceded  the  culprit. 
"  And  the  betrayal  of  poor  Mary  stood  out 
brighter  than  all  the  rest.  And  what  do  you 
think?  When  I  woke  there  were  groans  coming 
from  the  attic.  That  was  too  much  for  me,  and 
instead  of  trying  to  find  my  way  downstairs,  I 
leaped  from  the  chamber  window  and  ran  till  I 
reached  your  door."  Then,  in  a  subdued  voice, 
the  penitent  said :  "  As  a  servant  of  the  law,  John 
Bradley,  do  with  me  what  you  will." 

"  The  question  is,  what  can  I  do  in  a  case  like 
yours  ?  " 

"  Help  a  poor  devil  to  become  a  man !  "  Then 
the  outcast  went  on  to  say :  "  Those  who  are 
well-born  can  scarcely  understand  what  odds  a 
man  has  to  .contend  with  who  has  bad  blood  in  his 
veins.  It  is  like  a  drop  of  poison ;  it  contaminates 
one's  whole  being  unless  by  some  means  it  can  be 
eradicated ! "  With  increasing  fervor  he  con- 
tinued, saying :  "  You  know  that  my  mother  was 
one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world.  You  also 
know  what  she  suffered  from  the  villain  that  she 
unwisely  chose  for  a  husband." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bradley,  "  but  what  of  that?  " 

"  Simply  that  the  good  inherited  from  her  cries 
out  for  the  regeneration  of  the  evil  tendencies  be- 
queathed me  by  my  lawless  father.  If  any  man 
can  help  me  you  are  the  one." 

"  What  can  I  do,  since  there  is  theft,  desertion 
and  bastardy  laid  at  your  door?  " 

"  In  the  first  case,"  said  the  culprit,  "  I  can 


136     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

repay,  and  with  interest,  the  sum  taken  from  the 
family  estate.  As  to  desertion,  the  war  has  been 
over  too  long  for  that  to  cause  my  arrest." 

"  But  what  of  the  girl  who  died,  leaving  a 
fatherless  child  ?  " 

In  reply  to  that  the  man  said : 

"  You  won't  be  too  hard  on  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  have  supported  the  boy  ever  since  he  was 
born." 

Mr.  Bradley  was  astonished  at  that  revelation. 
Without  further  comment,  he  showed  Peter  Bliss 
to  a  room  and  told  him  to  remain  there  till  morn- 
ing, when  he  would  see  what  could  be  done  for 
him. 

It  was  the  next  day,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  one 
after  that,  when  Mr.  Philbrick  and  Mr.  Folsom, 
the  village  carpenters,  went  out  to  the  old  Bensil 
estate  to  begin  alterations.  It  required  consider- 
able courage  on  the  part  of  both  to  enter  the 
haunted  house.  Mr.  Folsom  took  his  rifle  along 
and  laughingly  remarked  that  he  would  shoot 
every  ghost  and  goblin  that  appeared.  All  went 
well  the  first  day  and  the  second,  but  upon  the 
third  a  storm  set  in,  and  a  moaning  sound  was 
heard  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  upper  part 
of  the  house.  As  the  wind  increased  in  force  it 
became  louder  and  louder.  Finally  the  carpenters, 
in  a  frenzy  of  fear,  dropped  their  tools  and  started 
for  home. 

Within  an  hour's  time  everyone  in  the  village 
knew  of  their  supposed  narrow  escape  from  what 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  137 

they  believed  to  be  some  horrible  creature  inhabit- 
ing the  unused  loft.  In  the  meantime,  Peter's 
strange  experience  was  bruited  abroad.  That,  to- 
gether with  settling  the  charges  preferred,  kept 
him  busy  answering  questions.  In  spite  of  the 
crimes  to  which  Rachel  Winn  heard  him  confess, 
she  pitied  the  poor  fellow,  and  was  glad  to  know 
that  by  remunerating  the  Bensil  heirs  for  what 
he  had  taken  from  them  he  was  set  free. 

A  week  later  two  college  students,  stopping  at 
one  of  the  mountain  hotels,  came  down  to  the  vil- 
lage and  begged  the  privilege  of  spending  a  few 
days  at  the  old  rookery,  as  they  called  the  haunted 
house.  They  had  evidently  heard  of  the  ghost 
stories,  and  doubtless  thought  to  add  something 
startling  to  their  already  long  list  of  adventures. 

Deacon  Frost  was  a  good  Methodist,  still  he 
had  a  leaning  toward  spiritualism.  He  said,  with 
an  air  of  disgust: 

"  Jest  as  if  them  city  chaps  know  more'n  all 
Old  Riverby  folks !  Hain't  there  been  apparitions 
seen  in  other  places  in  town?  Didn't  Mis'  Dob- 
bins' mother  'pear  to  her  the  night  'fore  her  baby 
died?" 

There  were  others  who  also  believed  the  strange 
happenings  at  the  unoccupied  house  were  due  to 
supernatural  causes. 

As  the  new  owner  was  in  Europe,  the  students 
were  given  permission  to  remain  there  as  long 
as  they  wished.  Each  one  fitted  himself  out  with 
a  revolver  and  sufficient  ammunition  to  destroy 


n 

138     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

an  army.  They  were  at  the  old  domicile  more 
than  a  week  without  hearing  or  seeing  anything 
unusual.  They  began  to  think  that  the  whole 
story  was  a  hoax.  They  said  one  to  the  other : 

"  Probably  that  old  drapery  at  the  window  was 
what  Bliss  took  to  be  the  ghost  of  his  mother. 
And  as  for  the  noise,  that  might  have  been  in  his 
own  head.  I  take  it  that  he  is  no  stranger  to 
champagne." 

While  discussing  the  matter,  the  wind  gave  a 
low  whistle  through  the  vines  that  grew  in  pro- 
fusion over  the  veranda.  That  was  immediately 
answered  by  a  wail  from  the  attic.  One  of  the 
young  men  turned  to  the  other  and  said: 

"  Pshaw!     Is  that  what  all  the  talk  is  about?  " 

The  words  had  scarcely  passed  his  lips  when  the 
noise  became  like  the  shrieks  of  a  maniac.  They 
both  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  with  revolvers  in 
hand,  hurried  toward  the  garret  door.  Upon  try- 
ing to  open  it  they  found  the  bolt  rusted  into 
the  socket.  With  a  knock  from  the  butt  of  one 
of  the  pistols  it  receded,  and  the  door  flew  open. 
The  rafters  of  the  unfinished  apartment  were  so 
completely  interwoven  with  cobwebs  that  it  seemed 
impossible  for  anything  to  live  there.  Still,  with 
considerable  bravado,  the  ghost  hunters  proceeded 
up  the  narrow,  rickety  stairway.  Upon  reaching 
the  top,  they  saw  a  large  aperture  in  the  wall  ad- 
joining the  barn. 

"  The  mystery  is  solved,"  said  one  of  the 
marauders."  But  it  remains  to  be  seen  what  kind 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE  139 

of  game  we  have  to  deal  with."  The  other  one 
pointed  to  a  dark  object,  and  whispered: 

"  There's  the  chap." 

"  Where?  "  queried  his  companion.  Then  he, 
too,  saw  something  away  under  the  eaves  that,  in 
the  dim  light,  resembled  a  huge  brown  bear.  The 
more  courageous  of  the  two  advanced  toward  the 
strange  object.  He  was  about  to  fire  when  he 
thought  he  saw  it  move.  Thereupon  he  retraced 
his  steps,  and  gave  his  friend  an  opportunity  to 
exhibit  his  skill  as  a  huntsman.  Despite  the  valor 
of  both,  they  decided  that  to  fire  and  miss  the  mark 
would  prove  disastrous.  Acting  upon  that  de- 
cision, they  backed  gingerly  down  the  stairs  and 
closed  the  door.  Upon  reaching  the  village,  wild 
with  excitement,  they  found  plenty  of  men  and 
boys  ready  to  assist  in  the  capture  of  the  noisome 
creature. 

Deacon  Frost  was  somewhat  chagrined  at  hav- 
ing his  belief  in  spirits  disproved;  still  he  took  a 
club  and  joined  the  group  that  was  bent  on  de- 
stroying the  strange  beast. 

Mr.  Bradley  declared  that  he  didn't  take  any 
stock  in  the  cock-and-bull  story  told  by  the 
students;  still  he,  too,  went  with  the  others  on 
their  murderous  errand.  Upon  his  return  he  said 
that  the  strange  object  proved  to  be  nothing  but 
an  old  buffalo  coat  with  which  a  hole  in  the  roof 
had  been  calked.  When  questioned  by  the  guests 
regarding  the  noises  heard,  he  said  that  they  were 
produced  by  a  toy  whistle  which  the  mischievous 


140     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  Pete  "  remembered  to  have  placed  beneath  the 
coping  when  he  was  a  youngster  in  order  to 
frighten  the  housemaids.  And  thus  were  ex- 
plained the  mysterious  happenings  at  the  haunted 
house. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  PERCIVALS 

Lord  and  Lady  Percival,  as  the  villagers  called 
an  elderly  couple  of  that  name,  lived  in  a  pic- 
turesque white  cottage  just  beyond  the  church. 
They  were  interesting  people.  Both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Percival  had  an  air  of  refinement  which  be- 
spoke good  breeding.  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
they  lived  in  the  village  a  long  time  before  their 
neighbors  were  able  to  make  out  just  who  they 
were  or  where  they  came  from.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  great  excitement  prevailed  when,  through 
a  guest  of  the  family,  it  became  known  that  there 
had  been  a  broken  engagement  between  the  couple 
and  that,  in  spite  of  inexorable  fate  which  had 
separated  them  for  years,  they  had  finally  married. 
The  secret  once  out,  the  old  gentleman  and  lady 
didn't  hesitate  to  tell  about  their  early  attach- 
ment, their  long  separation,  and  their  happy  re- 
union. 

Dorcas  Pendleton  was  a  great  favorite  with 
both  Mr.  Percival  and  his  charming  wife,  therefore, 
Rachel  Winn  was  privileged  to  hear  their  ro- 
mantic story  at  first  hand.  One  evening  when  the 

girls   sat  on   the  rose-covered  veranda  with  the 
141 


142     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

elderly  people,  the  queenly  hostess  started  up  as 
from  a  reverie,  and  said: 

"  How  little  one  half  of  the  world  knows  how 
the  other  half  lives !  " 

"  What  put  that  trite  saying  into  your  head?  " 
her  husband  asked. 

"  Why,  I  was  just  thinking  how  little  the  aris- 
tocrats living  on  Beacon  Hill  sixty  years  ago  knew 
or  cared  about  Jesse  Brown's  wife  and  children." 
Then,  as  if  her  husband  had  never  heard  the  tale 
before,  or  perhaps  it  was  for  the  benefit  of  the 
girls,  she  continued,  saying:  "  To  be  sure,  our 
family  was  thought  much  of  while  we  lived  in  a 
fine  house,  and  my  father  came  sailing  into  Boston 
harbor  now  and  again  with  a  well-filled  purse! 
But  when  he  went  away  and  didn't  return  for 
two  years  and  more,  and  my  mother  was  obliged 
to  rent  three  small  rooms  to  live  in,  her  friends  dis- 
appeared like  dew  before  the  sun,  so  to  speak. 
Some  of  them  even  passed  us  by  without  a  look  of 
recognition.  We  children  didn't  mind  so  much, 
but  poor  mother  felt  it  keenly." 

"  Oh,  then  you  were  born  in  Boston,"  Rachel 
ventured  to  say. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  woman  with  an  air  of 
pride.  "  My  early  childhood  days  were  spent  play- 
ing beneath  the  famous  old  elm  on  the  Common. 
Except  for  circumstances  of  which  I  shall  tell  you 
later,  Boston  would  have  been  my  home  to  this 
day." 

The  story-teller  then  gave  an  account  of  being 


THE  PERCIVALS  143 

separated  from  her  mother  and  her  little  brothers 
and  sisters  when  she  was  but  twelve  years  of  age, 
and  of  going  to  Vermont  to  live  with  a  distant 
relative  of  her  father.  A  tear  stole  down  the 
woman's  cheek  as  she  said  that  each  one  of  the 
children  insisted  upon  giving  her  some  toy  to  take 
away  with  her,  and  that  her  mother  wept  piteously 
while  packing  up  the  simple  wardrobe. 

"  Well  I  remember  looking  out  of  the  coach 
window  and  bidding  them  all  good-bye,"  said  the 
story-teller.  She  continued,  saying :  "  How 
vividly  I  recall  the  dense  forests  through  which  we 
passed  before  reaching  the  old  tavern,  where  Mr. 
Bertram  met  me,  and  his  wife  whom  I  was  to  call 
aunt.  Riding  over  hill  and  dale  brought  joy  to 
my  childish  heart,  and  I  nearly  forgot  my  grief 
at  leaving  home.  But  the  *  creeps  '  go  down  my 
spine  even  now  when  I  think  of  the  forbidding  ex- 
pression upon  Aunt  Malinda's  face.  I  felt  in- 
stinctively that  Uncle  Silas  would  be  a  friend  to 
me.  When  he  lifted  me  down  from  the  carriage 
I  suggested  going  to  the  barn  to  assist  in  un- 
harnessing the  horses.  One  look  from  aunt  settled 
the  matter.  She  said :  '  I  am  amazed  that  a 
girl  of  your  age  should  be  so  bold.'  But  there," 
said  the  narrator,  "  my  early  experience  in  Pratt- 
ville  would  better  be  passed  over." 

"  And  did  you  never  return  to  Boston  ?  "  Dor- 
cas asked. 

"  No,  dear,"  said  the  woman,  "  and  the  worst 
of  it  was  when  I  was  something  like  fifteen  years 


144     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

old  I  overheard  Aunt  Malinda  tell  Uncle  Silas  that 
upon  my  father's  return  from  sea  two  weeks  after 
I  left  home  a  letter  came  from  him  requesting  her 
to  bring  me  to  Boston.  She  also  confessed  to  hav- 
ing destroyed  the  missive  lest  it  fall  into  my  hands 
and  make  me  more  homesick  than  I  already  was." 

"  That  certainly  was  a  dastardly  act,  mother," 
said  Mr.  Percival,  "  but  if  you  had  returned  to  the 
'  Hub '  who  would  be  looking  out  for  me  these 
days?" 

"  True  enough,  Dyer,"  the  fond  wife  responded. 
"  It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  good  to  no  one." 
Then  the  woman's  mind  reverted  to  the  time  when 
she  and  her  husband  first  met,  and  she  said: 
"  Don't  you  remember  the  old  church  in  Pratt- 
ville  where  we  used  to  listen  to  sermons  an  hour 
long?  " 

Mr.  Percival  made  no  reply,  but  remarked: 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Bob  Wilmot  who  put  his 
head  in  at  the  door  when  several  clergymen 
were  dining  at  his  father's  house  and  exclaimed: 
'  There  goes  the  last  dandelion ! '  I  think  the 
venturesome  youth  finally  became  a  minister.  If 
so,  doubtless  he  has  robbed  many  a  youngster  of 
the  remaining  bit  of  some  toothsome  delicacy." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Percival, 
"  I  saw  so  much  of  parsons  whom  aunt  entertained 
that  I  enjoyed  the  going  to  and  coming  from 
church  far  more  than  I  did  their  preaching. 
Especially  when  you  walked  home  with  me.  And 
how  perfectly  furious  aunt  was  whenever  you 


THE  PERCIVALS  145 

lingered  at  the  gate  for  a  last  word !  It  was  when 
she  found  that  you  had  made  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage that  her  ungovernable  temper  reached  the 
danger  point." 

From  the  narrative  it  was  evident  that  Mrs. 
Bertram  was  jealous  of  any  attention  shown  her 
ward,  especially  that  coming  from  young  men. 
However,  it  seems  that  Mary  Brown  outwitted  the 
meddlesome  woman,  and  finally  became  engaged. 
That  true  love  never  runs  smoothly  was  again 
verified.  The  girl's  betrothed  was  immediately 
called  to  England  on  important  business,  and  by 
unforeseen  events  was  detained  beyond  all  expecta- 
tion. When  month  after  month  passed  without 
any  word  from  him,  either  to  his  fiancee  or  to  his 
parents,  Mrs.  Bertram  became  more  unkind  to 
the  girl  than  usual.  She  taunted  her  with  saying 
that  doubtless  young  Percival  went  away  to  rid 
himself  of  such  a  ne'er-do-well."  The  story- 
teller's eyes  flashed  with  indignation  while  relating 
some  of  the  trying  incidents  which  occurred  dur- 
ing the  years  of  waiting  for  her  absent  lover. 

"  Finally,"  said  she,  "  exasperated  beyond  en- 
durance, and  believing  Dyer  to  have  been  lost  at 
sea,  I  declared  that  I  would  marry  the  first  man 
that  proposed  to  me." 

According  to  the  heroine's  own  story,  fate 
seemed  to  take  a  hand  in  the  matter.  About  that 
time  Leonard  Douglas,  a  young  man  from  Canada, 
came  to  Prattville  and  fell  desperately  in  love  with 
her. 


146     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

"  Girl-like  I  married  him,"  said  the  story-teller. 
Then  in  explanation  she  said :  "  Mr.  Douglas  was 
a  fine  young  man,  good  enough  for  any  girl.  But 
when  a  woman  gives  her  hand  in  marriage  her 
heart  should  go  with  it.  I  didn't  deceive  him.  I 
told  him  about  my  engagement  to  Mr.  Percival, 
and  tried  to  assure  him  that  he  would  always  be 
first  in  my  affections.  In  spite  of  that,  with  the 
conceit  of  his  kind,  he  thought  when  once  I  was  his 
I  should  forget  the  old  lover.  But  this  isn't  tell- 
ing the  girls  about  my  going  to  Canada  to  live, 
where  I  found  people  so  different  from  those  in 
the  States." 

"  Why,"  said  Dorcas,  "  my  mother  came  from 
Quebec,  and  we  think  she  is  the  dearest  woman  in 
the  world." 

"  *  When  place  we  seek,  or  place  we  shun,  the 
soul  finds  happiness  in  none,'  "  said  Mrs.  Percival. 
"  Mr.  Douglas  was  a  kind,  indulgent  husband, 
and  in  the  first  years  of  our  married  life  we  had 
a  beautiful  home.  Leonard  was  delighted  when 
John  Nelson,  our  first  child,  was  born.  He  said: 
"  *  Don't  you  think  you  love  me  just  a  wee  bit 
more,  Mary,  since  I  am  the  father  of  the 
youngster?  ' 

"  I  was  ready  to  burst  into  tears  with  think- 
ing how  different  it  might  have  been,  so  I  made 
no  reply  lest  I  should  betray  my  feelings.  How- 
ever, the  infant's  prattle  brought  a  deeper  sense 
of  regard  for  its  father  than  I  had  ever  felt  be- 
fore. And  when  two  years  later  little  Margaret 


THE  PERCIVALS  147 

came  I  truthfully  told  Leonard  that  I  was  more 
fond  of  him  than  I  was  on  our  wedding  day." 

Dorcas  and  Rachel  looked  up  to  see  how  Mr. 
Percival  would  take  that.  Instead  of  being  in  the 
least  offended,  he  said: 

"  Small  return,  mother,  for  a  good  man's  de- 
votion." 

Taking  no  notice  of  her  husband's  remark,  the 
woman  went  on  with  telling  about  Mr.  Douglas's 
failure  in  business,  and  about  moving  to  York 
State.  Then  followed  an  account  of  the  man  be- 
coming discouraged  and  of  his  spending  money  at 
the  alehouse  which  should  have  been  spent  for 
food  and  clothing  for  their  children. 

"  It  was  during  those  wretched  days,"  said  the 
story-teller,  "  that  I  heard  from  my  mother  for 
the  first  time  in  many  years.  She  had  written  to 
several  families  bearing  the  name  of  Douglas,  all 
to  no  purpose.  By  some  good  fortune,  however, 
that  letter  chanced  to  reach  me.  She  said  that 
my  father's  long  absence  from  home  at  the  time  I 
came  away  was  occasioned  by  the  villainy  of  one 
of  his  crew  who,  through  base  falsehoods,  caused 
him  to  be  incarcerated  in  a  Spanish  prison.  She 
also  said  that  his  voyage  since  then  had  been  suc- 
cessful, and  that  he  had  finally  given  up  following 
the  sea.  The  letter  stated  that  he  had  just 
disposed  of  his  vessel  and  received  a  large  sum  of 
money.  She  closed  by  saying: 

"  '  You  will  readily  understand  that,  in  spite  of 
our  good  fortune,  we  cannot  be  happy  till  every 


148    CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

means  has  been  taken  to  find  our  dear,  absent 
daughter,  that  she  may  share  with  the  other  chil- 
dren what  rightfully  belongs  to  her.' 

"  I  read  the  daintily  written  lines  over  and 
over  again,"  continued  Mrs.  Percival,  "  before  I 
could  be  sure  that  some  strange  hallucination  was 
not  passing  through  my  tired  brain.  When  I 
realized  the  truth  of  the  message  which  they 
brought,  my  heart  fairly  leaped  for  joy.  My 
childhood  home  came  vividly  to  mind.  There  was 
my  mother  with  the  gentle  blue  eyes  and  flaxen 
hair.  There  were  the  children  ready  for  bed, 
kneeling  beside  her  in  their  evening  devotions. 
Then,  too,  I  fancied  that  I  could  hear  Granny 
Vroom,  the  old  Dutch  fruit-vender  across  the  way, 
calling  out  in  her  broken  English :  '  Cherries  all 
ripe !  Cherries  all  ripe ! ' 

"  My  first  thought  was  that  I  would  immediately 
send  for  money  to  defray  the  expenses  of  my 
family  to  Boston.  But  when  I  saw  John  Nelson 
with  his  only  pair  of  trousers  out  at  the  knees, 
and  Margaret,  poor  child,  wearing  a  faded  calico, 
and  thought  of  their  besotted  father  who  might 
come  staggering  in  from  the  tavern  at  any  mo- 
ment, my  heart  sank  within  me.  May  God  for- 
give my  inordinate  pride,"  said  the  woman,  "  but 
lest  some  one  of  my  family  should  seek  me  out  and 
find  me  in  such  straitened  circumstances,  I  never 
replied  to  my  mother's  loving  missive." 

"  Oh,  how  cruel,"  Rachel  thought,  and  perhaps 


THE  PERCIVALS  149 

she  said  so  under  her  breath.  In  any  case,  the 
woman  continued,  saying: 

"  Strangely  enough,  through  an  accident  which 
happened  to  Mr.  Douglas  two  weeks  later  I  was 
left  a  widow." 

Rachel  afterwards  confessed  to  Dorcas  that  she 
was  somewhat  relieved  by  that  declaration.  She 
said  that  she  had  been  wondering  how  the  woman 
ever  rid  herself  of  her  undesirable  companion. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  "  in  spite 
of  what  the  Good  Book  says  about  caring  for 
widows  and  the  fatherless  you  would  be  amazed  to 
know  the  petty  meanness  of  women  and  the  cruelty 
of  men.  When  I  think  of  Doctor  Fisher  who 
turned  me  and  my  children  out  of  house  and  home 
two  days  after  the  burial  of  my  husband,  and  of 
the  wife  who  declined  to  furnish  me  with  any  more 
sewing  because  I  was  no  longer  a  tenant  of  theirs, 
I  wonder  if  they  may  not  still  be  wandering  about 
purgatory  seeking  peace  for  their  sordid  souls." 

" '  Beneath  the  clouds  the  starlight  lurks ; 
through  showers  the  sunbeams  fall,'  "  quoted  Mr. 
Percival.  "  A  year  later  when  the  widow  Douglas 
was  in  the  depths  of  despair,  who  should  appear  on 
the  scene  but  a  lone  bachelor  with  a  heart  full  of 
love  and  a  purse  full  of  gold  for  her." 

"  So  you  did,  Dyer,  God  bless  you !  And  the 
world  can  never  know  how  kind  you  were  to  my 
children ! " 

"  Never  mind  about  that,"  said  the  man,  "  since 


150     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

they  became  men  and  women  of  whom  we  both  may 
be  justly  proud." 

"  The  story  will  not  be  complete,"  said  Mrs. 
Percival,  "  till  you  tell  the  girls  about  your  peril- 
ous sea-voyage  which  changed  our  first  plans  for 
marriage." 

Curfew  was  already  ringing,  but  Dorcas  as- 
sured her  friends  that  she  and  Rachel  were  in  no 
haste.  Thereupon  Mr.  Percival  began  his  tale 
of  adventure. 

"  Upon  leaving  New  York  the  weather  was  all 
that  could  be  desired.  We  had  been  out  but  a  few 
hours  when  a  dead  calm  settled  down  upon  us. 
That  was  followed  by  a  terrible  storm.  Our  vessel 
was  tossed  about  like  a  feather  by  waves  moun- 
tain high.  Within  a  short  time  the  passengers  and 
many  of  the  crew  were  ill.  The  captain  lost  his 
bearings,  and  it  soon  became  evident  that  the 
staunch  ship  was  going  to  pieces.  I  strapped  my- 
self to  a  beam  and  soon  lost  consciousness.  When 
I  came  to  I  was  lying  upon  the  shore  of  a  tropical 
island.  Above  me,  and  looking  inquiringly  into  my 
face,  stood  a  young  girl.  She  belonged  to  the  un- 
civilized race  inhabiting  that  bit  of  paradise  which 
had  been  dropped  down  in  mid-ocean.  She 
brought  me  a  gourd  of  water  and  a  basket  of 
freshly  gathered  fruit.  On  regaining  sufficient 
strength,  I  crawled  to  the  shelter  of  a  palm  tree. 
Many  of  the  natives  gathered  around  me  and  per- 
formed strange  incantations.  My  first  thought 
was  that  they  were  about  to  take  my  life,  but  from 


THE  PERCIVALS  151 

certain  gestures  I  concluded  that  they  thought 
me  to  be  a  god  sent  to  bless  them.  Those  people," 
said  the  narrator,  "  neither  Spanish  nor  Malay, 
had  the  blood  of  both  nations.  Their  bronze-like 
bodies  were  partially  concealed  by  long  straight 
black  hair  that  fell  loosely  about  their  shoulders. 
They  lived  in  caves  and  subsisted  on  fish,  wild  fowl, 
roots  and  herbs. 

"  Month  after  month  I  wandered  up  and  down 
the  shining  strand,  hoping  against  hope  to  sight 
a  sail.  The  monotony  was  broken  only  by  occa- 
sional visits  from  my  benefactor,  the  young  girl 
who  at  first  befriended  me.  She  brought  me  gar- 
lands of  flowers  and  danced  in  graceful,  rhythmic 
movements.  Then  again  she  would  sing  in  weird 
strains  that  resembled  the  moaning  of  the  sea. 
That  her  childish,  simple  heart  was  touched  with 
affection  for  me  could  not  be  doubted.  By  means 
of  gestures  and  a  few  words  of  the  girl's  strange 
language,  which  I  learned  to  understand,  she 
begged  me  to  bring  her  away  with  me.  However 
much  I  would  have  liked  to  see  the  effect  of  civili- 
zation upon  her  untutored  mind,  I  had  not  the 
heart  to  separate  the  child  from  her  people  and 
her  natural  environment. 

"  To  return  to  myself,"  said  the  story-teller, 
"  one  can  scarcely  realize  my  joy  when  upon  wak- 
ing one  morning  I  heard  voices  unlike  those  of  the 
islanders.  To  my  surprise  I  saw  several  men  near 
at  hand.  '  This  is  my  chance,'  I  thought. 
Sheltered  by  the  luxuriant  tropical  vines,  I  ven- 


152     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

tured  near  enough  to  learn  that  they  were  pirates 
whose  vessel  was  anchored  near  the  shore.  I  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  them,  since  my  only  earthly 
possession  consisted  of  a  one  piece  garment  made 
of  bark.  Parley  on  my  part  was  needless,  for 
the  desperadoes  saw  the  situation  at  a  glance. 
Whether  those  murderous  corsairs  saved  me  for 
humanity's  sake,  or  if  it  were  for  selfish  motives, 
will  never  be  known.  In  any  case,  they  took  me 
along  when  they  set  sail  and  locked  me  into  a 
small  cabin  beneath  the  ship's  deck." 

"  Oh,  how  perfectly  dreadful !  "  Dorcas  ven- 
tured to  say. 

"  From  exhaustion  I  fell  asleep,  but  was  soon 
awakened  by  the  splashing  of  oars  and  the  cries 
of  infuriated  men.  Finally  the  confusion  ceased, 
and  only  voices  of  men  conversing  in  low  tones  were 
audible.  Then  came  a  sound  like  that  of  splitting 
wood.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came  till,  with  a  tre- 
mendous blow,  down  crashed  the  door  of  my 
prison-house  and  I  stood  face  to  face  with  an 
English  sailor. 

"  After  relating  my  tale  of  misfortune  I  was 
taken  on  deck,  where  the  villainous  outlaws  lay 
weltering  in  their  own  blood.  It  seemed  that 
the  English  vessel  had  been  in  pursuit  of  the 
marauders  for  sometime.  After  overcoming  them 
and  taking  possession  of  their  spoils,  the  crew  of 
the  Mentone  set  fire  to  the  viking  ship  and 
returned  to  Liverpool.  Upon  hearing  my  name 
and  recalling  the  fact  that  my  father  was  once  a 


THE  PERCIVALS  153 

schoolmate  of  his,  Captain  Bentley  gladly  gave 
me  passage,  and  upon  going  ashore  furnished  me 
with  funds  to  defray  my  expenses  home." 

Dorcas  and  Rachel  were  profuse  in  their  thanks 
for  the  evening's  entertainment.  They  declared 
it  to  be  more  interesting  than  any  "  Arabian 
Nights  "  tale. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    MYSTERIOUS    LIKENESS    UPON    A 
MIRROR 

A  foot-path  led  out  from  the  highroad  about 
halfway  between  the  village  and  Barton.  It  con- 
tinued on  through  a  pine  grove  and  up  over  a 
hillside  to  a  small  dwelling.  The  structure,  with 
a  suggestion  of  red  paint  upon  it,  had  small 
balconies  beneath  the  windows  and  a  broad  piazza, 
after  the  fashion  of  a  Swiss  chalet.  The  steps 
leading  to  the  veranda  were  crumbling  to  pieces 
and  the  balustrades  were  fast  losing  their  hold 
upon  the  spiral  rods.  This  dilapidated  house 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a  clump  of  tall  white  birches 
which,  if  approached  at  nightfall,  appeared  like  so 
many  ghosts. 

The  villagers  declared  that  the  face  of  a  woman 
upon  the  mirror  in  the  living-room  prevented 
curious  visitors  from  entering  the  old  ruin.  See- 
ing the  apparition  they  quietly  withdrew,  and 
carefully  closed  the  door.  They  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  no  one  had  ventured  beyond  the  thresh- 
old of  the  porch  since  the  owner  went  away. 

As  the  story  goes,  an  artist,  with  the  eccentrici- 
ties of  his  kind,  came  to  Old  Riverby  years  before 
Rachel  Winn  made  her  first  visit  there,  and  erected 

154 


THE  LIKENESS  UPON  A  MIRROR    155 

the  "  House  in  the  Woods."  That  was  the  name 
over  the  door,  but  it  was  more  frequently  spoken  of 
as  the  "Artist's  Retreat." 

The  name  didn't  matter,  but  when  the  old  gentle- 
man went  away,  and  after  an  absence  of  two  or 
three  weeks  returned  with  a  handsome  young  wife, 
the  town  was  all  agog.  Many  a  gossip,  shaking 
her  head  and  gesticulating  with  her  initial  finger, 
declared  that  the  time  would  come  when  she  would 
be  running  off  with  a  younger  man.  It  was  only 
conjecture  on  the  part  of  the  busybodies  —  still, 
the  prediction  came  true.  It  happened  naturally 
enough.  The  second  summer  after  the  artist 
settled  in  the  cottage  Jaffery  Blondin,  a  wealthy 
young  sport  from  the  South,  came  to  "  The  Ridge- 
wood."  Blondin  had  done  crayon  work  and  had 
dabbled  in  oils  somewhat.  Upon  hearing  of  the 
famous  painter  near  at  hand,  he  immediately  made 
arrangements  to  study  with  him. 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  thought,  "  I  can  spare  two 
mornings  each  week.  Sister  Constance  will  gladly 
excuse  me  from  riding  with  her.  And  hang  it! 
Ruth  Atherton  will  have  to  acquiesce  in  my  plans." 
In  speaking  of  Miss  Atherton,  his  fiancee,  to  a 
friend  he  said :  "  Great  Scot !  It  makes  a  differ- 
ence whether  a  fellow  is  engaged  to  a  girl  from 
choice  or  merely  from  principle."  He  told  some 
one  else  that  he  didn't  propose  to  give  up  his  club, 
or  to  let  the  paint  dry  on  to  his  brushes  to  please 
any  woman. 

It  was  not  strange  that  such  an  unprincipled 


156     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

fellow  should  become  infatuated  with  the  artist's 
charming  wife,  nor  that  he  should  doubt  the 
felicity  of  her  marriage.  With  his  doubts  came 
the  assurance  that  she  was  the  only  woman  in  the 
world  for  him.  He  began  to  drop  in  frequently, 
ostensibly  to  ask  about  the  mixing  of  some  color, 
or  to  see  what  his  instructor  was  at  work  upon. 
Then,  too,  he  frequently  lunched  with  the  couple 
and  spent  many  an  afternoon  on  their  broad 
veranda,  the  gentlemen  talking  of  art  and  its  in- 
fluence toward  a  higher  civilization,  while  the 
woman's  deft  fingers  were  employed  with  some 
bit  of  needle-work.  And  it  was  no  unusual  sight 
to  see  the  three  strolling  through  the  woods  to- 
gether. With  his  intense  desire  to  note  every 
touch  of  beauty  in  the  landscape,  the  artist  wholly 
forgot  the  presence  of  his  wife  and  her  attentive 
escort.  It  was  noticeable  to  others,  however,  that 
in  crossing  a  spongy  morass  or  a  swiftly  running 
stream  the  younger  man  invariably  assisted  the 
woman.  Thus,  in  the  very  presence  of  the  hus- 
band began  the  love-making.  Doubtless  the  girl 
married  the  elderly  gentleman,  thinking  her  ad- 
miration for  his  genius  to  be  love.  Perhaps  she 
never  would  have  known  the  difference  if  the  young 
man  hadn't  come  into  her  life.  Unfortunately, 
under  his  seductive  influence,  her  high  ideals  were 
soon  set  at  naught.  In  place  of  them  they  made 
a  law  unto  themselves. 

Miss  Blondin  and  Miss  Atherton  left  the  moun- 
tains the  first  of  September.     It  was  not  till  the 


THE  LIKENESS  UPON  A  MIRROR    157 

morning  of  their  departure  that  they  learned  of 
Jaffery's  plan  to  remain  a  month  longer.  The 
sister  gracefully  accepted  his  apology  for  letting 
her  go  home  without  him.  She  was  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise  that  her  erstwhile  scapegrace  of 
a  brother  had  finally  settled  down  to  something, 
even  if  it  were  nothing  more  than  making  a  few 
sketches.  It  was  evident  to  the  remaining  guests, 
however,  that  Miss  Atherton,  who  went  away  with 
eyes  red  from  weeping,  saw  the  matter  from  a 
different  point  of  view. 

It  was  the  last  of  October,  or  to  be  exact,  it 
was  Hallow-e'en  night,  that  the  inn-keeper  was 
aroused  by  a  loud  knocking.  When  he  opened 
the  door  who  should  be  there  but  the  venerable 
artist,  whose  face  was  even  whiter  than  his  snowy 
locks.  In  his  usual  courteous  manner  he  inquired 
if  his  wife  had  been  there  during  the  evening. 
The  inn-keeper  could  give  him  no  information  con- 
cerning her.  But  the  chore-boy  who  slept  in  a 
room  adjoining  the  office  called  out,  saying  that 
he  saw  her  driving  toward  Norwood  with  young 
Blondin.  He  thought  it  was  about  dusk  when 
they  went  away.  The  man  became  even  paler 
than  he  was  when  he  entered.  He  stood  in  speech- 
less amazement;  finally  he  soliloquized,  saying: 

"  The  wretch  who  entered  my  house  in  the  guise 
of  a  gentleman  has  robbed  me  of  my  wife !  " 

The  man  made  no  further  comment  except  to 
excuse  himself  for  having  disturbed  the  landlord. 
With  lantern  in  hand  he  retraced  his  weary  steps 


158     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

back  to  his  desolate  home.  The  next  morning 
found  the  villagers  wild  with  excitement  at  the  oc- 
currence of  what  they  had  long  foreseen  to  be 
inevitable.  They  were  none  the  wiser  for  the  way 
in  which  the  injured  man  bore  the  shock.  There- 
after his  doors  were  closed  to  all  visitors. 

The  winter  came  and  melted  into  spring  —  still 
there  was  no  sign  of  life  at  the  "  House  in  the 
Woods,"  except  for  the  shaft  of  blue  that  daily 
rose  from  the  birches,  and  for  the  glimmer  of 
light  that  nightly  peered  out  into  the  gloom. 

With  the  return  of  summer  many  of  the  guests 
came  back  to  "  The  Ridgewood."  For  the  first 
few  days  after  the  arrival  of  each  the  elope- 
ment of  JafFery  Blondin  and  the  artist's  handsome 
wife  was  the  one  absorbing  topic  of  conversation. 
They  all  expressed  sympathy  for  disappointed 
Miss  Atherton,  but  none  of  them  evinced  the  least 
pity  for  the  young  woman  who  had  so  ruthlessly 
been  robbed,  both  of  her  home  and  of  her  good 
name.  The  summer  was  still  young  when  one  of 
the  "  piazza  fixtures "  saw  by  the  Washington 
Star  that  Jaffrey  Blondin  had  married  an  heiress 
from  southern  California.  The  paper  stated  that 
it  was  another  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  The 
couple  met  on  a  railway  train  and  were  married 
a  month  later.  One  of  the  guests  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  said  that  it  was  high  time  Jaffrey 
left  off  sowing  "  wild  oats."  Another,  who  had 
marriageable  daughters,  regretted  that  he  was  no 
longer  in  the  market. 


THE  LIKENESS  UPON  A  MIRROR    159 

It  was  something  more  than  a  year  from  the 
time  the  artist's  wife  went  away  that  she  returned 
to  him.  Many  of  the  villagers  still  remember  the 
night.  It  was  Christmas  eve  and  bitterly  cold. 
When  the  widow  Lebaron,  a  French  woman,  who 
was  maid-of-all-work  at  the  cottage,  heard  a  sound 
at  the  front  door,  she  listened  to  make  sure  whether 
it  was  some  one  knocking,  or  if  the  limb  of  a  tree 
was  grazing  the  side  of  the  house.  Upon  open- 
ing the  door  there  stood  her  former  mistress,  pale 
and  emaciated  almost  beyond  recognition.  She 
was  thinly  clad  and  her  only  wrap  consisted  of  an 
old  plaid  shawl.  Without  a  word  she  hurried 
through  the  porch  past  the  housekeeper  and  into 
the  living-room.  When  the  recreant  wife  saw  her 
haggard  features  depicted  in  the  mirror  which 
extended  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor  she  stood 
spellbound.  Noting  the  traces  of  jealousy  and 
despair,  she  whispered: 

"  Can  it  be  that  I  am  so  changed?  Or  has  my 
husband  foreseen  my  misery  and  portrayed  its 
effects?" 

"  That  is  my  masterpiece,"  said  a  voice,  coming 
from  the  shadow  of  an  alcove. 

The  words  were  no  more  than  spoken  before 
the  penitent  was  kneeling  beside  her  distinguished 
husband.  When  to  every  entreaty  for  pardon  he 
turned  a  deaf  ear,  she  rose,  and,  throwing  back 
her  shawl,  revealed  a  beautiful  babe  sweetly  sleep- 
ing on  her  breast.  Before  the  astonished  man 
found  words  for  utterance,  she  thrust  the  child  into 


160     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

his  arms,  and  hurriedly  disappeared  out  into  the 
darkness. 

The  old  gentleman  passed  the  little  waif  to 
his  housekeeper.  The  following  morning  he  gave 
it  to  her  as  her  own,  together  with  means  sufficient 
for  their  support.  When  the  heartbroken  man  was 
well  rid  of  the  woman  and  her  helpless  charge,  he 
left  town  as  mysteriously  as  he  had  come,  without 
so  much  as  turning  the  key  in  the  door  of  his 
house. 

During  Rachel  Winn's  stay  in  Old  Riverby  she 
frequently  saw  the  widow  Lebaron  and  her  foster 
daughter,  who  was  then  some  fifteen  years  of  age. 
More  than  one  of  the  villagers,  upon  seeing  them 
coming,  said  to  Rachel: 

"  Sh!  Don't  speak  of  the  girl  having  been 
adopted.  Mrs.  Lebaron  would  be  deeply  grieved 
if  the  child  should  learn  that  she  is  not  her 
mother." 

Some  of  the  villagers  believe  the  likeness  of 
the  artist's  wife  on  the  old  mirror  to  have  been 
painted  by  her  husband.  But  to  this  day  there 
are  others  who  are  equally  sure  that  it  was  done 
by  an  unseen  hand  as  a  curse  upon  the  woman. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  FORTUNES  OF  PHILLIP  TURNER 

Old  Riverby  still  prides  itself  on  having  been 
the  birthplace  of  several  illustrious  men.  It  was 
there  that  Governor  Willford  and  Chief  Justice 
Spencer  first  saw  the  light  of  day.  Then  came 
the  Farwell  twins,  both  of  whom  distinguished 
themselves  as  politicians.  But  nothing  delights 
the  natives  more  than  to  relate  incidents  in  the 
life  of  Phillip  Turner,  another  of  their  townsmen 
who  became  famous.  His  father  descended  from 
an  old  English  family  and  his  mother  was  a 
Van  Dyke.  But  the  fact  that  Phillip  was  born 
with  a  caul  seemed  of  more  importance  than  any 
number  of  distinguished  ancestors.  Rachel  Winn 
was  wholly  ignorant  of  what  that  meant,  but  re- 
frained from  making  any  inquiry  of  Mrs.  Hudson, 
the  miller's  wife,  who  was  only  too  glad  to  relate 
the  story. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  "  it  is  an  actual  fact 
that  the  child  was  born  with  a  veil  over  his  face." 

"  Ah !  That  is  what  it  means,"  Rachel 
thought. 

With  an  air  of  pride  the  woman  continued,  say- 
ing: 

"  As  I  was  the  nearest  neighbor  to  the  Turners 
161 


162     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

and  sent  for  old  lady  Tillson,  the  midwife,  myself, 
who  should  know  more  about  the  strange  hap- 
pening than  I  do?  Then,  too,  Adelaide  and  Har- 
riet, the  half-grown  daughters,  stayed  at  my  house 
the  night  their  brother  was  born."  Rachel  didn't 
mind  where  the  girls  stayed;  she  was  more  de- 
sirous of  hearing  about  the  little  stranger. 
Finally  the  story-teller  said.  "  What  a  to-do 
there  was  when  Old  Riverby  people  found  that 
such  a  strange  occurrence  had  taken  place.  The 
little  fellow  wasn't  more  than  twenty-four  hours 
old  before  the  news  was  heralded  throughout  the 
town.  Both  men  and  women  went  to  see  the  child 
and  many  of  them  didn't  hesitate  to  tell  the  parents 
their  opinion  as  to  whether  the  veil  portended 
good,  or  if  it  foretold  the  coming  of  evil. 

"  Girls  married  so  young  in  those  days,"  said 
Mrs.  Hudson,  "  that  it  seemed  no  time  after  the 
boy  came  into  the  Turner  family  before  Adelaide 
and  Harriet  settled  in  homes  of  their  own. 
Adelaide  married  a  wealthy  lumber  dealer  and 
went  West  to  live,  while  Harriet,  the  eldest  of  the 
two,  married  Neil  Horton  and  settled  here  in  the 
village.  In  less  than  a  year  she  became  demented, 
and  her  parents  were  obliged  to  take  her  home  and 
care  for  her.  It  proved  a  mild  form  of  insanity 
however;  the  girl  rarely  showed  signs  of  violence. 
Still,  according  to  the  doctor's  orders,  she  was 
locked  into  her  room  at  night,  and  a  close  watch 
was  kept  over  her  throughout  the  day.  It  seemed 
as  if  Harriet's  undoing  was  the  precursor  of  un- 


FORTUNES  OF  PHILLIP  TURNER    163 

ending  trouble  to  the  rest  of  the  family.  She  had 
been  home  only  a  short  time  when  her  father  was 
stricken  down  with  a  strange  illness.  After  lin- 
gering between  life  and  death  for  months,  he  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  sit  up,  but  he  never  took 
another  step. 

"  To  go  back  to  Phillip,"  said  the  story-teller, 
"  he  was  then  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  age.  In 
spite  of  his  youth,  he  was  compelled  to  leave  school 
and  take  charge  of  the  farm-work.  To  be  sure, 
he  studied  evenings,  but  that  could  scarcely  make 
up  for  what  he  lost  in  not  attending  the  daily 
sessions."  To  Mrs.  Hudson  the  Turner  children 
seemed  like  her  own,  and  she  said,  with  consider- 
able feeling :  "  Think  of  that  boy  with  a  refined, 
sensitive  nature  growing  up  amid  such  depressing 
surroundings !  There  sat  the  father  year  after 
year,  as  helpless  as  a  babe.  Leading  from  his 
father's  room  was  the  one  occupied  by  his  de- 
ranged sister.  Then,  too,  Phillip  saw  his  mother 
wearing  herself  out  with  unceasing  care  of  the 
two  unfortunates,  one  erratic  and  unreasonable, 
the  other  hilarious  or  morose." 

Though  the  hero  of  the  tale  was  already  a  man 
occupying  a  high  position,  the  trials  of  his  youth 
touched  Rachel  Winn's  kind  heart,  and  before  she 
was  aware  of  it,  her  eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears. 

"  Sunday  evenings  gave  the  boy  his  only  respite 
from  care,"  said  the  narrator.  "  He  was  privi- 
leged to  attend  services  at  the  village  church  and 
that  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  walk  home  with 


164     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

Rose  Westwood.  Rose  was  something  of  a 
coquette.  Her  mother  frequently  threatened  to 
send  her  away  to  boarding  school  if  she  didn't  stop 
flirting.  And  Phillip  was  attractive.  The  girls 
were  as  crazy  over  him  as  the  boys  were  over  his 
favorite  whom  he  was  wont  to  call  the  '  Rose  of 
Old  Riverby.'  " 

"  And  how  did  it  turn  out?  "  Rachel  asked. 

"  Oh,  after  the  fashion  of  most  early  love  af- 
fairs. Perhaps  it  would  have  ended  differently, 
however,  if  the  Civil  War  hadn't  broken  out  at 
that  time.  Phillip  was  only  seventeen,  but  hav- 
ing had  great  responsibility,  he  seemed  much 
older.  The  reading  of  war  news  inspired  him  with 
patriotism,  he  enlisted  and  was  soon  off*  for  the 
South." 

Rachel  again  interrupted  the  story-teller  by 
asking  if  the  young  man  ever  returned. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  "  after  four  years  of 
hard  fighting,  and  after  he  had  ruined  his  health 
and  lost  his  right  arm." 

"  Oh !  And  he  so  young !  "  Rachel  exclaimed. 
Then,  girl-like,  she  wanted  to  know  if  his  sweet- 
heart remained  true  to  him  all  that  time. 

"  Indeed  she  did  not,"  said  Mrs.  Hudson. 
"  He  hadn't  been  gone  a  month  when  Will  Stop- 
ford  from  Princeton  won  her  heart  without  the 
least  effort.  That  escapade  was  no  more  than 
over  when  she  went  to  Boston  and  fell  in  love  with 
a  wholesale  jeweler.  Phillip's  mother  thought 
it  no  more  than  right  that  she  should  let  him  know 


FORTUNES  OF  PHILLIP  TURNER    165 

how  things  were  going.  In  spite  of  her  letters  he, 
with  the  conceit  of  men,  thought  it  was  all  talk, 
and  that  upon  his  return  Rose  would  have  no 
thought  for  any  one  but  him. 

"  Alas  for  human  credulity !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Hud- 
son. "  When  Phillip  lost  his  arm  that  settled  the 
matter.  Rose  didn't  hesitate  to  say  that  she 
should  never  marry  a  man  who  was  disabled  for 
life.  Those  who  sympathized  with  Phillip  little 
dreamed  that  the  loss  of  his  arm  would  bring  him 
to  intellectual  heights  which  otherwise  he  never 
would  have  attained." 

"  How  did  that  come  about  ?  " 

"  In  kind  of  a  story-book  fashion.  For  a  long 
time  after  Phillip  came  home  he  lay  about  the 
house  unable  to  do  anything, —  another  invalid 
added  to  the  list.  His  mother  was  heartbroken 
at  seeing  his  helplessness.  Her  face  grew  thinner 
and  paler  as  the  days  went  by.  But,"  said  the 
story-teller,  "  it  is  a  long  road  that  has  no  turn, 
and  her  cares  finally  began  to  lessen.  First  Har- 
riet, whose  life  had  been  despaired  of  for  a  long 
time,  passed  away.  Then  Phillip  received  a  letter 
from  Adelaide,  urging  him  to  come  and  live  with 
her. 

"  The  making  ready  of  Phillip's  wardrobe,  the 
scraping  of  lint  for  the  dressing  of  his  wounded 
shoulder,  and  the  packing  of  delicacies  for  him 
to  eat  on  the  way  consumed  more  time  than  his 
mother  had  planned  on.  The  result  was  that 
November  was  here  before  he  was  ready  to  start  on 


166     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

his  long  and  tiresome  journey.  He  little  dreamed 
of  the  obstacles  that  lay  before  him,  or  of  the  suc- 
cess with  which  his  efforts  to  surmount  them 
would  be  crowned. 

"  It  was  on  a  cold,  rainy  night  that  Phillip 
reached  Bristol  where  his  sister  anxiously  awaited 
his  coming.  The  two  scarcely  recognized  each 
other.  He  whom  Adelaide  left  a  mere  boy  a  few 
years  before  was  seemingly  a  broken-down  man. 
And  she  that  went  away  just  a  slip  of  a  girl  had 
become  a  matronly  woman.  The  happy  greeting 
over,  they  were  soon  off  for  the  beautiful  home. 

"  Phillip  had  never  seen  anything  that  equaled 
the  magnificence  of  the  furnishings  of  his  sister's 
house.  Like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  sleep  eluded  him. 
He  lay  there  wondering  how  it  was  possible  for 
Adelaide  to  live  in  such  luxury  without  taking  some 
measures  to  lighten  the  burdens  of  her  mother. 
He  soon  learned  that  her  husband,  Joseph  Smalley, 
was  master  of  the  household,  even  to  the  small- 
est expenditure.  The  millionaire  delighted  in  pos- 
sessing the  handsomest  residence  in  the  city,  and 
in  knowing  that  his  wife  was  the  best  gowned 
woman  in  Bristol  society,  but  the  world  never 
suspected  that  his  charming  companion  was  not 
allowed  a  penny  of  her  own,  even  for  pin  money. 
It  seems  that  Adelaide  accepted  the  situation  com- 
placently and  made  a  pretense  of  being  fond  of  her 
churlish  husband.  Her  brother  made  no  com- 
ment, but  he  wondered  from  whom  she  inherited 
such  meekness. 


FORTUNES  OF  PHILLIP  TURNER    167 

"  *  Surely  not  from  the  Turners,'  he  thought. 
*  Nor  from  our  mother,  who,  though  the  personifi- 
cation of  love  and  devotion,  would  never  endure 
such  humiliation  as  that  from  any  man.' 

"  To  go  back  to  Phillip,"  said  the  good  woman, 
"  he  soon  became  friendly  with  Mr.  Patmore,  Mr. 
Smalley's  legal  adviser.  One  day  the  attorney 
made  bold  to  ask  Phillip  if  he  didn't  think  a  knowl- 
edge of  law  would  be  useful  to  him.  Having  been 
deprived  of  an  early  education,  Phillip  doubted 
his  ability  to  master  such  a  course  of  study. 
Nothing  daunted,  the  good  man  continued  his  ap- 
peal to  Phillip  by  saying: 

"  '  A  man  may  lose  every  limb  of  his  body  and 
still  retain  perfect  mentality.' 

"  That  son  of  Old  Riverby  was  no  sluggard," 
said  Mrs.  Hudson.  "  He  acted  upon  the  sugges- 
tion of  his  new  found  friend  and  began  his  task 
at  once,  first  reviewing  lessons  which  he  learned  as 
a  boy,  then  taking  up  more  difficult  studies.  In 
a  few  months  he  obtained  a  situation  as  teacher  in 
a  suburban  school.  And,"  said  the  story-teller, 
"  he  told  me  himself  that  many  a  night  he  studied 
till  twelve  o'clock  and  past,  lest  some  question  be 
asked  the  following  day  which  he  could  not  answer. 
That  state  of  affairs  lasted  but  a  short  time,  how- 
ever, for  Lawyer  Patmore  took  him  into  his  office 
and  gave  him  every  opportunity  to  advance  in 
the  profession.  When,  five  years  later,  Phillip 
came  home  to  attend  his  father's  funeral,  he  was 
a  full-fledged  attorney." 


168     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

Rachel  broke  in  upon  the  narrator  and  said: 

"  The  Westwood  girl  must  have  regretted  that 
she  treated  him  so  shabbily." 

"  If  she  did,  no  one  was  the  wiser.  During 
Phillip's  absence  she  married  and  settled  over  in 
Barton." 

"  Your  prince  of  good  fortune  couldn't  have 
been  impregnable  to  Cupid's  darts  all  that  time," 
Rachel  commented  shyly. 

"  There  it  is  again,"  said  the  woman.  "  It 
takes  the  young  people  to  guess  such  secrets. 
Every  girl  and  boy  in  the  village  declared  that 
Phillip  was  already  engaged  when  he  was  here, 
but  we  older  ones  didn't  believe  it  till  we  received 
cards  for  his  wedding.  The  couple  now  have 
three  half-grown  sons  who,  I  am  told,  are  con- 
siderably set  up  since  their  father  has  been  ap- 
pointed attorney-general  of  the  state  where  they 
live." 

To  this  day  Old  Riverby  people  differ  in 
opinion  as  to  whether  Phillip  Turner's  success  was 
due  to  parental  influence  or  if  it  came  through 
having  been  born  with  a  veil  over  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  LEGEND  OF  LONE  ISLAND 

It  was  a  custom  with  the  pupils  of  Norwood 
Academy  to  have  their  annual  picnic  at  Lone 
Island.  Through  the  kindness  of  Lena  Sargent, 
one  of  the  Old  Riverby  girls  who  attended  the 
school,  Rachel  Winn  was  invited  to  join  in  their 
holiday.  The  company  met  at  the  old  tavern. 
From  there  they  had  a  ten-mile  drive  before  reach- 
ing their  destination.  The  August  haze  hung 
about  the  mountains,  and  in  the  fields,  tinted  with 
a  second  crop  of  red  clover,  locusts  droned  their 
lazy  songs.  On  reaching  Mt.  Tilson  the  carriages 
zigzagged  back  and  forth  on  a  road  which  re- 
sembled a  narrow  white  ribbon.  Making  the  final 
turn,  they  came  to  Lake  Duncan,  a  brooch  of 
diamonds  on  the  misty  mountain-top. 

An  aged  boatman  living  in  an  old  shack  near 
the  shore  rowed  the  party  to  the  island.  He  spoke 
no  word,  and  Rachel  wondered  if  he  were  the  same 
mute  oarsman  who  guided  Elaine's  frail  barque 
down  the  silent  river.  Upon  landing  they  found 
long  rustic  tables  which  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
there  since  time  out  of  mind.  In  any  case  they 
were  soon  spread  with  snowy  linen  and  luncheon 
made  ready. 


170     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

Miriam  Wolcott  was  invited  to  chaperone  the 
party.  Though  she  was  past  forty  and  still  un- 
married, no  one  thought  of  calling  her  an  old  maid. 
She  had  been  disappointed  in  love  when  young, 
but  was  not  morose  or  selfish  on  account  of  it. 
Her  soulful  dark  eyes  and  abundant  red-brown 
curls  were  a  joy  to  see.  The  pompadour,  the 
waterfall  and  puffs  came  into  fashion  and  went  out 
again  for  other  women,  but  Miriam  never  changed 
her  mode  of  hair-dressing.  Some  people  declared 
it  was  because  James  Swanson,  her  faithless  lover, 
said  that  the  curls  were  her  crowning  glory. 
However,  Miriam's  chief  delight  lay  in  telling  love 
stories,  either  old  or  new.  It  was  after  luncheon 
when  some  of  the  girls  and  boys  had  strolled  off 
in  couples  that  she  began  to  relate  a  legend  of 
Lone  Island.  She  prefaced  the  tale  by  saying: 

"  We  are  upon  the  spot  where  began  a  romance 
old  in  story.  The  parties  concerned  were  Robert 
Duncan,  a  young  man  of  Scottish  descent,  and 
Winona,  an  Indian  girl.  Though  the  Indians 
held  undisputed  ownership  of  this  region  at  that 
time,  none  of  them,  except  those  who  went  down 
the  river  carrying  furs  which  they  exchanged  for 
tobacco,  liquor  and  baubles  for  ornaments,  ever 
saw  the  face  of  a  white  man. 

"  The  story  goes  that  young  Duncan  was  a 
sportsman  who  took  great  pleasure  in  going  off 
fishing  and  hunting  all  by  himself.  On  one  of 
his  solitary  excursions  he  came  up  the  river  as 
far  as  the  turn  where  our  village  is  situated,  and 


THE  LEGEND  OF  LONE  ISLAND    171 

thinking  to  find  another  stream  beyond  this  moun- 
tain, he  shouldered  his  canoe  and  climbed  the 
steep  slope  over  which  we  just  came.  Imagine 
his  surprise,  when,  upon  reaching  the  summit,  he 
saw  this  beautiful  lake  which  now  bears  his  name! 
A  summer  sky  was  reflected  in  the  opalescent 
waters,  and  round  about  him  rose  the  mountains 
clothed  in  their  virgin  forests.  Who  wonders  that 
he  was  so  overcome  by  the  charm  of  it  that,  upon 
reaching  the  island,  he  left  his  canoe  so  near  the 
shore  that  it  drifted  away? 

"  When  the  paleface  found  that  his  only  means 
of  reaching  the  mainland  was  gone  he  no  longer 
saw  beauty  in  anything.  Even  the  songs  of  the 
birds  with  which  he  had  at  first  been  enraptured 
seemed  to  be  cries  of  exultation  at  his  misfortune. 
While  subsisting  on  fruit  and  berries  he  wondered 
what  he  should  do  when  the  frost  came  and  de- 
stroyed them.  Then  he  bethought  himself  that 
he  had  heard  his  father  say: 

"  *  There  is  no  trouble  like  that  which  is  bor- 
rowed,' also,  '  it  is  the  unexpected  that  most  often 
happens.' 

"  Just  at  that  moment,  sure  enough,"  said 
Miriam,  "  the  unexpected  actually  came  to  pass. 
As  the  young  man  lay  beneath  an  overhanging 
boulder  meditating  upon  his  father's  trite  say- 
ings, he  heard  the  lapping  of  water  on  the  shore, 
as  if  a  boat  were  coming  in."  Of  course,  Miriam's 
listeners  thought  that  an  attack  upon  him  by  a 
dozen  or  more  redskins  was  inevitable.  Imagine 


172     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

the  surprise  of  everyone  when  she  said :  "  Be- 
fore he  had  time  for  further  conjecture,  an  Indian 
girl  pushed  the  prow  of  her  canoe  onto  the  shining 
strand  and  stepped  out.  Unconscious  of  the  pres- 
ence of  any  one,  she  removed  her  moccasins  and 
waded  into  the  lake.  Lest  the  girl  see  him  and 
dart  off  into  the  wood,  young  Duncan  remained 
perfectly  quiet.  When  she  came  out  and  began 
removing  her  leathern  garments  preparatory  to 
taking  a  plunge  into  the  lake,  he  heard  a  slight 
rustling  of  leaves.  Looking  up,  he  saw  a  huge 
snake  suspended  from  the  limb  of  a  tree  im- 
mediately above  her.  The  hunter  had  seen  the 
same  species  of  reptile  before.  Well  knowing 
that  a  thrust  of  the  creature's  fangs  meant  death 
to  its  victim,  he  sprang  from  his  hiding  place, 
picked  up  the  first  stick  that  came  to  hand  and 
struck  the  serpent  a  deadly  blow.  Winona  fully 
realized  what  her  fate  would  have  been  except  for 
the  timely  act  on  the  part  of  the  stranger.  But, 
never  having  seen  a  white  man  before,  she  took  him 
to  be  a  wood  nymph  that,  through  the  kindly  in- 
tervention of  some  spirit,  had  been  sent  there  to 
protect  her. 

"  From  an  old  guide  the  young  man  had  learned 
something  of  the  Indian  language.  Thus  he  was 
enabled  to  explain  to  the  young  creature  that  he 
was  not  a  fairy,  but  a  veritable  paleface  who  was 
in  great  neefl  of  her  assistance  to  deliver  him  from 
exile."  Thereupon  some  one  remarked: 


THE  LEGEND  OF  LONE  ISLAND    173 

"  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  if  she  had  been  a 
real  redskin  his  bones  would  be  bleaching  here  on 
the  shore  to  this  day ! " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  that  an  Indian  woman  has 
no  sentiment,"  said  Miriam.  "  When  the  girl 
promised  to  guide  the  stranger  out  of  the  forest, 
she  was  already  wishing  that  he  might  decide  to 
remain. 

"  To  return  to  the  hermit,"  Miriam  continued, 
"  he  was  lonelier  than  ever  when  again  left  to  him- 
self. Throughout  the  night  he  prayed  to  be  de- 
livered from  his  place  of  bondage ;  and  all  day  long 
he  waited  for  his  rescuer.  Finally,  the  sun  sank 
into  the  west  and  his  heart  sank  with  it.  When 
but  a  disk  of  crimson  remained  above  the  horizon, 
he  heard  the  glad  sound  of  an  oar.  Immediately, 
as  if  dropping  from  the  heavens,  the  dusky  maiden 
stood  before  him  arrayed  in  ornaments  befitting  a 
princess.  Around  her  waist  a  silver  girdle  hung 
loosely.  Bracelet  upon  bracelet  adorned  the 
slender  arms,  while  her  shapely  ankles  were  be- 
decked with  shining  bangles.  Then,  too,  upon  her 
fingers  glittered  many  rings. 

"  If  the  girl  saw  an  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment on  the  stranger's  face  she  made  no  allusion  to 
it,  but  told  him  that  her  father  was  a  mighty  chief 
who  hated  even  the  name  of  a  paleface. 

"  '  And  why  should  he  not,'  said  she,  '  since  our 
people  have  endured  such  cruelty  at  their 
hands?'" 


174     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

Thereupon  one  of  the  girls  remarked: 

"  I  hope  she  didn't  place  poor  Duncan  at  the 
mercy  of  her  unforgiving  father." 

"  An  Indian  never  forgets  a  favor  done  him," 
said  Miriam.  "  Neither  did  Winona.  In  the 
afterglow  which  crimsoned  the  mountain-tops  she 
told  the  solitary  about  the  deep  forests  and  the 
animals  which  inhabited  them.  She  also  recounted 
many  roots  and  herbs  and  named  the  wild  flowers 
that  grew  in  abundance  near  her  wigwam.  When 
the  girl  rose  to  go,  she  thought  the  paleface  seemed 
less  anxious  to  leave  his  hermitage  than  he  did  the 
day  before.  Nevertheless,  she  again  promised  to 
guide  him  out  of  the  forest  at  the  first  opportunity. 
The  girl,  as  pure  as  the  night  wind  that  kissed 
her  bronzed  cheek,  little  dreamed  that  her  in- 
terest in  the  young  man  was  the  beginning  of  love. 
Nor  was  Robert  Duncan  aware  that  by  some 
subtle  charm  he  was  becoming  more  and  more  at- 
tracted to  the  Indian  maiden. 

"  It  is  a  long  road  which  has  no  turn."  Then 
Miriam  went  on  to  say :  "  The  old  chief,  having 
no  sons,  frequently  took  Winona,  his  favorite 
daughter,  on  his  hunting  expeditions.  He  praised 
her  courage  and  told  her  what  a  splendid  warrior 
she  would  make.  Meanwhile,  the  girl  was  trying 
to  lessen  his  hatred  for  the  white  people,  and  all 
for  the  sake  of  the  strange  brave.  Finally,  with 
great  trepidation  she  shared  her  secret  with  the 
stern  parent.  The  records  make  no  mention  of 
what  passed  between  father  and  daughter,  but 


THE  LEGEND  OF  LONE  ISLAND    175 

the  fact  that  the  old  chief  went  with  her  to  the 
island  and  brought  the  young  man  away  is  con- 
clusive evidence  that  the  girl  won  him  over  to  her 
way  of  thinking.  Whether  he  took  the  hermit 
into  his  home  through  pity,  or  if  he  wished  to 
learn  from  him  the  methods  of  warfare  used  by  the 
whites,  will  never  be  known." 

"  And  do  you  suppose  that  the  young  man 
really  did  live  with  those  dreadful  creatures  ? " 
queried  one  of  the  girls. 

"To  be  sure!  And  why  not?"  said  Miriam. 
"  If  we  can  believe  half  that  history  tells  us  re- 
garding the  indignities  to  which  the  red  men  have 
been  subjected,  I  think  we  shall  agree  that  the 
Indians  were  not  so  much  more  dreadful  than  their 
oppressors."  Then  she  asked:  "What  one  of 
you  can  tell  me  to  whom  this  beautiful  land  belongs 
even  now,  if  not  to  the  descendants  of  the  red 
men?" 

"  But  to  go  back  to  the  legend.  Duncan's  de- 
votion for  his  sweetheart  soon  assured  her  father 
of  his  love  for  her,  and  not  many  moons  waxed 
and  waned  before  the  old  chief  consented  to  the 
marriage.  Every  brave  in  his  tribe  was  bidden  to 
the  wedding,  and  all  night  long  the  forest  rang 
with  their  merrymaking." 

"And  is  that  the  end  of  the  story?"  Rachel 
Winn  made  bold  to  ask. 

"  Certainly  not,  as  you  shall  presently  hear." 
Then  the  story-teller  went  on  to  say :  "  Nearly 
every  twelve  months  brought  a  little  papoose  to 


176     CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

the  happy  couple.  Some  of  them  had  eyes  as 
black  as  midnight,  while  others  looked  out  from  a 
heavenly  blue.  The  father  adored  the  dark-eyed 
ones  for  resembling  their  mother,  and  she  wor- 
shiped the  little  palefaces  for  his  dear  sake.  But 
alas !  True  love  never  runs  smoothly.  And  the 
time  came  when  like  an  eagle  swooping  down  upon 
its  prey  an  army  of  whites  attacked  the  red  men. 
They  drove  them  out  and  set  fire  to  their  wigwams. 
Thus,  during  young  Duncan's  absence  on  one  of 
his  hunting  trips,  his  family  was  rendered  home- 
less. Upon  his  return  he  found  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren living  in  a  cave  on  the  mountain-side.  When 
he  saw  the  devastation  which  had  been  wrought, 
his  heart  sank  within  him.  He  well  knew  that 
those  who  had  befriended  him  in  his  time  of  need 
had  been  set  upon  by  his  own  people.  He  wept 
for  very  shame  of  his  race,  and  prayed  that  his 
face  might  become  bronzed  like  that  of  an  Indian. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  ground  opened  at  that  moment 
and  before  him  stood  his  father.  Murder  must 
have  been  in  the  young  man's  heart  when  he  real- 
ized that  it  was  through  his  parent  that  such 
misery  had  come  to  those  he  loved." 

"  When  nearly  every  one  in  the  company  de- 
nounced Captain  Duncan  for  having  committed 
such  a  cowardly  act  Miriam  said,  in  his  defence: 

"  You  must  remember  that  the  captain  believed 
his  son  to  have  been  murdered  by  the  Indians. 
Therefore,  he  made  a  solemn  vow  to  avenge  his 
death.  Year  after  year  the  half-crazed  father 


THE  LEGEND  OF  LONE  ISLAND    177 

waited.  Finally,  he  gathered  together  a  com- 
pany of  white  men  and  made  the  onslaught.  When 
he  realized  what  he  had  done  he  suffered  equally 
with  those  whom  he  had  wronged.  On  bended 
knees  he  begged  his  son's  forgiveness,  also  that  of 
the  beautiful  wife.  He  proposed  rebuilding  the 
wigwams  and  recalling  the  natives. 

"  '  To  rebuild  the  homes,'  said  the  son,  '  would 
be  an  easy  matter,  but  to  gather  the  people  from 
the  forest  where  they  have  taken  refuge  would 
be  beyond  the  power  of  man  to  do.* 

"  To  all  similar  suggestions  the  son  turned  a 
deaf  ear.  But  when  his  father  urged  him  to  take 
his  family  and  come  down  to  the  lowlands,  where 
a  comfortable  house  could  be  erected  for  their 
occupancy,  young  Duncan  held  out  no  longer,  for 
was  there  not  his  wife  and  children  to  be  consid- 
ered ? 

"  Poor  Winona !  Her  heart  was  broken  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  the  haunts  of  her  childhood. 
She  said  good-bye  to  the  singing  pines  and  to  the 
whispering  birches.  She  lingered  by  the  brooklet 
which  had  sung  its  murmuring  songs  ever  since 
she  could  remember.  And  to  the  woodland  birds 
she  bade  a  sad  farewell.  When  the  time  came  for 
leaving  the  forest  her  father  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  It  is  believed  to  this  day  that  he  sought 
shelter  among  his  own  kind  rather  than  to  live 
with  the  hated  palefaces."  The  slanting  rays 
of  the  sun  were  already  creeping  under  the  tree- 
tops  when  the  story-teller  said :  "  And  thus  it 


178    CHRONICLES  OF  OLD  RIVERBY 

was  that  Robert  Duncan  became  the  first  settler 
in  Old  Riverby.  His  dwelling  stood  beside  our 
beautiful  stream  which  Winona  was  wont  to  call 
"  Minnehaha  "  or  "  Laughing  Waters." 

That  Lone  Island  was  one  of  Cupid's  favorite 
haunts  cannot  be  doubted.  His  darts  were  flung 
about  with  such  abandon  the  day  of  the  picnic 
that  even  Rachel  Winn,  the  staid  Boston  girl,  was 
unable  to  escape  them.  As  if  by  foreordination  (or 
was  it  by  chance?)  there  she  first  met  Reginald 
Parkhurst,  of  Philadelphia,  who  three  years  later 
led  her  to  the  marriage  altar. 


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